Undefeated
by Raivis-Latvijas
Summary: Mathias "The Rookie" Køhler will do anything to become the pride of his nation. The only things standing in his way are a 39-0 champion, the rest of his league, and a crush on a certain brutal Swede. DenSu, ArmFin, RusCan. Various OCs and other pairings.
1. Køhler vs Williams

**A/n: **Well, here it is. I've waited long enough to put this up for you guys. This story was inspired by the movie "Cinderella Man", though it isn't a boxing story at all. It's MMA. You know, Mixed Martial Arts? Ever heard of the UFC? Strikeforce? Mystic? United Fighter's League? Yeah, those are MMA leagues. In MMA, fighters use combinations of different martial arts like Boxing, Wrestling, Muay Thai, and Brazilian Jui-Jitsu to defeat their opponents. The rules of these fights vary from league to league, but usually consist of a few rounds that last a few minutes.

Onto the details of the story; the pairing is DenmarkxSweden (though the pairings don't start up until later in the story), and the type is obviously MMA-centered.

Enjoy! Oh, and thanks to reviwer, I fixed the weights of the characters in here. As it turns out, the chart I had been reading at the time was complete bullshit. I compared it to a few others to discover that so... I'm sorry about the initial mistake. Please, enjoy! If there are any other mistakes you see, do inform me me somehow!

**Xxx**

Bright lights blinded my eyes, causing me to squint as I exited the tunnel into the arena full of yowling fans. The octagonal cage in the center was my destination; you know, that thing with blood stains on the mat where guys brutalized each other with their fists? Yeah, that thing. My hands were encased in tightly-wrapped bandages and over the bandages, bright red gloves. They matched my red gladiator-style trunks.

My coach, Tolvorn Ryker, walked beside me. He was a retired veteran of this league, the World-Class Fighting League, and managed to pull some strings to get me a fight in it. This league, the WCFL, was full of guys ready to beat the shit out of anyone whom stood in their way of getting a title shot. They usually got beat down by the undefeated champion though. People were used to losing to the champ; Alexianos "One Man Army" Kirzigian. The guy was twenty-nine years of age, and had an official record of 39-0. But that was a far way from where I was; I was 0-0 and had to focus on my current opponent, whom was a kickboxer.

As I entered the octagon and went to my corner, my coach barking in my ear, I got a good look at my opponent. He was a lean muscled guy, probably in his early twenties. Slightly wavy blonde hair, nearly violet eyes. He didn't seem like too much to fear. And who the hell gets a maple leaf tattooed on their chest?

The announcer stepped into the center of the ring and started to introduce us fighters, a heavy Irish accent clinging to his words.

"And now, an under-card fight. Introducing first, fighting out of the red corner in his WCFL debut, this man is a Generalist, fighting out of Copenhagen, Denmark. Standing at six feet tall, weighing two-hundred and six pounds, he is Mathias Køhler!"

The crowd booed, of course. I had no name to them, no fame whatsoever.

"Don't let the crowd get to you, kid!" My coach told me. I nodded and grinded my bottom teeth against my white mouth-guard in anticipation for the introduction of my opponent.

"Now introducing, fighting out of the blue corner, with an official record of 4 wins and two losses, this man is a kick boxer and a wrestler, fighting out of Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. Standing at five feet eight inches tall, weighing one-hundred seventy-three pounds, he is "The Quiet Guy", Matthew Williams!"

And I got to feel the burn of the crowd cheering for that Canadian guy with the blue gloves across the mat from me.

The media cleared the cage, and the announcer left, with just the ref, Matthew, and myself. Oh how I was nervous. My debut fight against "The Quiet Guy" would either prove that I belonged here or, or that I sucked. Hopefully it wouldn't be the latter of the two options.

"Are you ready?" The ref looked to Matthew, then to me, with his arms outstretched. Matthew and I both nodded, and the ref brought his hands together out in front of him.

"Let's get it on!"

The Canadian guy and I put our fists up and approached each other, ready to swing at any moment. I faked a jab with my leading right hand, then attempted a quick hook with my left. "The Quiet Guy" ducked and easily avoided the punch, before coming back and placing a nice little jab to my ribs. Ouch.

I stepped back a bit, then got to feel the smack of a hard leg kick against the inside of my right leg. Okay, now that seriously hurt. This guy's legs I now understood that I had to avoid.

I got in close with my hands up and unleashed a flurry of inside punches, forcing Williams to back up against the cage, where I pursued him. I got in the clinch quickly, landing light body punches while our arms did a lot of tangling for a good grappling position. When I saw a good chance, I ducked down and hooked my arms around the outside of my opponent's thighs and lifted him up off the mat. I then slammed him down on his back, earning a grunt and heavy breathing from the Canadian. But I wasn't out of the danger zone yet; Williams had his right arm wrapped around my neck and was setting up for a guillotine choke.

I quickly scrambled my way out of the set up and stood, bouncing on my toes as the ref allowed Matthew to stand.

We were given a signal to continue, and right away, I got knocked down. By what? I wasn't too sure until my coach yelled out from outside the cage.

"Watch for the head kicks Mathias!"

Oh, so that was why I felt blood running down the side of my face as Matthew climbed on top of me and held me down on the ground, sitting on my chest. He unleashed a flurry of punches to my head, but I defended, quickly rolling over and attempting to stand. Matthew and I almost looked to be in a piggy-back position, but he got off me and smirked a bit at me when I turned to face him.

He unleashed another head kick, but I defended, bringing my arms up to defend the side of my head. I then found my chance to strike, attacking him with a right jab, a left jab, and then a right hook. All three connected rock solid and Williams stumbled back, dazed. I closed in, landing a few more strikes as he backed up against the cage. I continued to attempt to beat his face in, but he was defending well. He shoved me away then tried to go for a double-leg takedown, surging forward with his arms out to grasp my legs, but I was smart and a fast thinker. I surged forward as well with one knee up as he went downwards, and bam; my left knee connected with his head.

He dropped like a fly, face first on the mat. I was about to step in an make sure he was knocked out, but the ref jumped in between us, waving his arms in a sign to stop the fight.

I raised my arms in pride, shouting in my native tongue, flexing my muscles. I had just won my debut, in the first round nonetheless.

Media and coaches, along with medical personnel came into the cage. Once the cut above my eyebrow had been checked out by medical staff, I hugged my coach, whom grinned.

"That's how you win a fight, Mathias. Great job!" He praised, leading me to the center of the ring where the ref stood, along with the announcer. I watched as Williams managed to slowly stand, looking to me and smiling. He nodded in approval and took his place on the opposite side of the ref. The Irish announcer then began to speak.

"Now, declaring the winner by knockout at one minute forty-two seconds into the first round; Mathias Køhler!"

Despite me just winning, the crowd had little reaction as my arm was raised in the air by the ref. I sighed and was escorted out of the cage shortly after, to my locker room.

My coach approached me as I sat on the bench, beginning to remove my red gloves.

"Great fight out there, Mathias. See? You know what you're doing. The crowd doesn't realize that they just saw a rising star in action, so don't worry about any of them." He said, helping me remove them.

"Yeah, whatever. I don't care about the crowd so much as I do just winning my next fight so that I can prove that I really am a good fighter." I replied.

"That's good thinking. How's your eyebrow feeling?"

"It's alright. How'd that knockout look?"

"That was amazing. That's something that'll catch the eyes of guys like Alexianos Kirzigian and Berwald Oxenstierna."

"I don't know. They've been in the WCFL for quite some time. I bet those guys have seen it all."

"But they haven't seen you."

"What's so different about me, compared to all the other guys?"

"Kid, don't you dare start putting yourself down after the first win of your career."

"I'm just asking."

"You've got heart, kid. I'll tell you that. Some of the guys in this league fight just to see you bleed. But you fight for something better. You fight for your nation; Denmark. You fight to bring a great name to your people."

"Just like you did, coach."

Tolvorn laughed a bit. "Just like I did; yes. I fought to bring a name to Iceland. But, it seems that I've been replaced in this league by another kid who's just like you in some ways."

"Who?"

"Joachim Johansson. He's the younger brother of a guy you've probably heard of."

"Again I'll ask, who?"

"Alexander Johansson."

"Isn't he the guy who nearly had to retire due to a neck injury?"

"Yep. Novkovic clocked him good with that right hand. Damn near snapped his neck."

"Those guys up near the top are dangerous as hell… I'm surprised nobody's died fighting in the WCFL."

"Guys have come close to it before. But no one's died in that cage. Not yet at least. Hopefully never."

"Sure as hell don't plan on it being me."

"Neither do I. Now go on and take a shower, kid. There may be a few guys waiting to take your picture and interview you about this win." Tolvorn exited the vicinity, allowing me to get undressed and slip into the shower. Once out, I got dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a WCFL-logo t-shirt. I slipped on a pair of sneakers and sighed.

Tolvorn walked back in and looked to me.

"There's actually more media than I expected out there. Should I let them in, or do you not want to talk to them?" He asked.

"I don't feel like chatting. I just want to head to the gym and find out about my next opponent."

"Alright, kid. Come on, we'll sift through them quickly and get to the taxi. I'll call the chairman and ask him who you'll be fighting next so that we can study up. We'll start training next week though; you've got to get plenty of rest."

I stood and followed Tolvorn out of the locker room with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, heading out into the hall. There were people with cameras and recorders, shoving the spotlight on me, but I kept my head down and didn't respond to any of the questions. I didn't have much to say, really.

When we got to the gym, I lightly boxed at a punching bag while my coach talked on the phone with the chairman of the WCFL; a middle-aged Italian guy named Lodovico Vargas.

I was tapped on the shoulder lightly, and I turned to see whom it was. I smiled a bit when I realized that it was Matthew Williams, the guy whom I had just beaten.

"You've got a good knee on you, rookie." He said with a smile.

"Thanks. You've got a wicked head kick. I'm lucky I didn't get knocked out cold when you landed that." I replied.

"You're welcome. And yeah, I've been told that before. Ask the three guys I knocked out by head kick." He chuckled.

"So how did you get your nickname, Williams? You don't seem too quiet."

"I get called "The Quiet Guy" because I don't talk to the media much. My coaches do all the talking. I have the charisma of a peanut when I'm under pressure. You know what I mean? Scratch that, you probably don't."

"That's true. I kinda avoided the media after the fight… Just didn't have much to say, you know? Yeah, I'm happy I won, but it's my first fight. You never know who the hell is going to pound my face in and put a loss on my record."

"You know who you remind me of?"

"Who?" I seemed to be asking that question a lot.

"Alexianos Kirzigian."

"What? You're just saying that because I'm new."

"No, I'm serious! Alexianos always says that he doesn't have much to say, and that you never know who's going to step in and give him his first loss. Even when he had his thirtieth win in his third rematch against Berwald Oxenstierna, that's what he said."

"Well, who knows. Maybe I am like that guy. But I doubt that I'll ever get up to his level. If I ever do, I bet he'll retire before then."

"I don't know. The guy may have been fighting since he was eighteen, but he's sharp as a tack. My step-brother fought him last year, said he'd never felt a punch so strong."

"Step-brother?"

"Yeah. Alfred "Freedom" F. Jones."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"Well I'll be damned."

"You don't know all that much about the league, do you?"

"Nope. I didn't even know the name of the chairman until yesterday."

"Oh wow. Well, let me give you some basic info. This gym, the World-Class Gym, is widely used by nearly every fighter in the WCFL. We all live either in this city, or an hour or two away. We like to keep the league close to the gym. Anyways, every once in a while you'll catch one of the stars like Kirzigian or Oxenstierna in here. It's kind of dead here right now because it's night, but if you come here in the mornings, you'll be able to meet up with some of the other fighters. Mostly guys down in the ranks like us, but it's still worth it."

"Anything else you should tell me?"

"There are a few relations within the ranks. Like Al and I being step-brothers. The chairman, Lodovico, has one of his two sons in the league. Lovino "The Italian Pitbull" Vargas. There's also the brothers Ludwig "Hammerfist" Beilschmidt and "The Awesome One" Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"Alright. Any good rivalries that I haven't heard of?"

"Well, everyone knows the Kirzigian - Oxenstierna rivalry… There's also the Novkovic - Begovich rivalry. Those two are bitter enemies, I swear. It's more than in the ring too; Novkovic and Begovich are of opposing nationalities."

"But isn't Begovich more experienced in the ring? You're talking about "The Southern Slavic Legend" Andelko Begovich, right? How could Novkovic and that guy have a rivalry?"

"Despite Begovich's experience, his 37-6 record is fading. The guy is thirty-five. He was at his prime back when I was just figuring out about MMA. Begovich was best in his twenties; he's getting kind of old compared to a lot of us here. But anyways, back to the rivalry. He and Novkovic have fought three times; Novkovic winning two out of the three by knockout. Begovich came back in their most recent fight which was last year, winning by doctor stoppage."

"Doctor stoppage?"

"Novkovic got a cut above his eyebrow that Begovich purposely kept hitting hard; ended up as a nice, big, deep gash. Kept bleeding like a stuck pig. Doctors called a stop to the fight and Begovich was given the win. Novkovic had to get eleven stitches to close up the cut."

"Ouch."

"That's an understatement."

"Any other rivalries?"

"Well, there's one that's kind of died down over the past two years, but I'm sure it'll flare up again."

"Who's it between?"

"It's between "Heartless" Ivan Braginski and Toris Lorinatus. The two have fought six times, believe it or not. It's tied three to three. They haven't fought in two years, mainly because Lorinatus was on a bad losing streak for quite some time that dropped him way down in the rankings, while Braginski went on up to get a title shot, but had to give it up due to a leg injury he got while training."

"Tough luck. I've seen that guys fights on tv; he's nuts."

"Who, Braginski?"

"Yes."

"He's a bit off mentally, yeah, but he's one hell of a fighter."

"I bet he is."

"Hey Køhler, you done chatting? We've got a fight contract for you to go sign on Sunday." My coach's voice dragged my attention from Williams to him. He was just hanging up the phone; I smirked a bit and nodded to him.

"Who am I fighting?" I asked as he walked over.

"A Brazilian Jui-Jitsu practitioner with Muay Thai side skills. Nikodemos Antonov. This guy is dangerous on the ground, I'll tell you what." He responded. Matthew cringed a bit.

"Word of advice; don't let him get you down to the ground. He'll submit you within the first ten seconds you're laying there. And don't think you're safe if you're on top of him. He got me locked in a defensive Kimura, which was my first loss. It was a painful one, that's for sure." He advised. I nodded.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, I better get going, rookie. I'll see you sometime when you're training, I'm sure."

"Yeah. See you Williams."

With that, Matthew left, waving a bit. I turned to my coach.

"Nikodemos Antonov, huh? Well, let's study up on him tomorrow, because right now, I'm feeling the come down of my adrenaline."

"Alright. Go on to your apartment. Meet me in the morning here at the gym."

"Gotcha. See you tomorrow, coach."

"See you, Mathias."

I followed in the footsteps of my Canadian comrade, leaving the building. When I got home and checked my cell phone, I had about a billion text messages from my family.

I smiled to myself as I sat on my bed. I wondered how far I would go with this career. Would I ever get an amazing record like Alexianos Kirzigian? Who knew.

But 1-0 was a start to something. That was for sure.


	2. Training

I didn't think that I'd ever see one of the hot-shot stars in action when I went into the gym Monday to start training for my fight against Nikodemos Antonov in four weeks.

But as I walked into the main area, there was Berwald Oxenstierna in one of the two square training rings, sparring with a sparring partner. That guy looked scary as hell. He looked like he could have possibly done some bodybuilding prior to his MMA career, and had a look in his eyes like "I must go do violence now".

I watched as Oxenstierna went for a double-leg takedown, one of his specialties. He grasped the legs of his sparring partner, lifted him clear off the ground, and then slammed him down. His partner grunted and from what I could tell, had no breath left in him. Oxenstierna's coach at the side of the ring said something in what I recognized to be Swedish, and Berwald stood up, getting off his partner, whom was lying there trying to regain his breath.

"Impressed, Køhler?" I heard my coach's voice to the left of me, and turned to see Tolvorn.

"Yeah… That was… That was a brutal slam." I said, looking back to Oxenstierna as he exited the ring and went over to one of the hanging punching bags while his coach checked on his sparring partner.

"That's what he's good at. He's got an amazing wrestling background, and has some decent boxing. He's number one behind Kirzigian. He's been in that position for the past two years." Tolvorn replied.

"His partner alright?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as Oxenstierna's coach took out his cell phone and dialed a number frantically.

"Probably broke something in his back. That wouldn't be the first guy to fall victim to an injury like that from Oxenstierna. The rings in here don't have much padding, so when you get taken down, it hurts far worse than when you get taken down in the octagon. These guys whom become the sparring partners for Oxenstierna actually sign an agreement, saying that if Oxenstierna causes permanent injury to them, or even kills them in the ring while training, he won't be sued or anything like that."

"Wow… That's… brutal."

"Well, come on. Let's get you training. Enough ogling at "The Beast"." I followed my coach over to the second ring and set my duffel bag at the side of it. I glanced over at Oxenstierna as he got back in the first ring, talking to his coach, whom seemed a bit angry with him.

"Mathias." I felt my coach's hand smack my cheek. "Pay attention. I know, it's an interesting scene and an amazing fighter, but we have work to do."

"Yeah… So what's on the agenda?" I asked, trying my hardest to keep my eyes on Tolvorn, instead of the medical personnel that were now coming into the ring where Oxenstierna had injured his sparring partner. Fast acting medical staff much? They must have been waiting out in the lobby or something for "The Beast" to injure someone.

"We're going to work on your ground game. Nikodemos is going to try to get you on the ground and keep you there so that he can submit you. Your training partner," My coach looked around a bit. "Is nowhere to be seen? Where the hell is that damned Von Bock?"

"Sorry I'm a bit late, Tolvorn." A voice piped up from an entrance over to the right of us.

"Well, you're here now. Mathias, meet your training partner, Eduard Von Bock. Eduard, meet the newest addition to the WCFL roster, Mathias Køhler. Eduard is a specialist in three different ground games, Mathias is a Generalist. Shirts, shoes, and sock off, then get in there." My coach ordered.

"Von Bock, try to keep Mathias on the ground, attempt submissions here and there. Also, try to transition to the full mount and see if he can get you off. Work on BJJ." Tolvorn said to my training partner as we stepped up into the square ring after removing the articles of clothing we had been told to remove.

"Start off in half guard. Mathias, on your back."

I did as my coach told and lay down on my back. Eduard positioned himself on top of my left leg, his left leg in between mine and his right on the outside; a position known in MMA as half guard.

"Mathias, what I want you to do is defend any transitions he tries, and force him back into your guard. Try to transition to an advantage position, and get to full mount. He will try to submit you with various submissions as he goes along; defend those. Ready?"

Eduard and I both nodded slightly.

"Go!"

Eduard immediately shifted his weight down while I wrapped my legs around his leg that was in between mine. He leaned forward and grabbed my right arm, setting up for an elbow-lock. I tensed my arm and shifted my body onto that side. Eduard's arm was now trapped between my body and the mat, giving me a chance to pull my leg out from under him and wrap my legs around his waist, bringing him into my guard.

"There you go Mathias! Just like that!" Tolvorn shouted from outside the ring.

Eduard freed his arm from under my body by pushing my left shoulder down with his free hand and forcing me to turn to face him. I reached up and grabbed his head, pulling it down to my chest to restrict his movement.

"Rubber guard, Mathias! Rubber guard!"

I slipped my left leg up Eduard's back and grasped my foot with my right hand, forming the guard Tolvorn had shouted out.

"Turn, Mathias! Full mount!"

I planted my right foot down on the mat, and turned, using that as leverage to flip Eduard over. I soon found myself in full mount, sitting on Eduard's chest, with my legs tightly closed on his sides. He reached up and grabbed the back of my neck and head with both of his hands, forcing my head down to his shoulder.

"Watch for the guillotine!"

And just as my coach shouted that, Eduard slipped his left arm over the back of my neck, pulling me downwards rather uncomfortably in the perfect set up for a guillotine. I struggled against it for a few moments, before he got it locked in by pulling his body out from under me; wrapping is legs around my waist, and pulling my neck forward and body away. I tapped with my free arm and Eduard let go. I rolled off of him onto my back, and he stood.

"No, no, and no Mathias. Catch your breath, let's re-do the process, starting from half guard once again."

Eduard and I ended up tangling with eachother for three hours before Tolvorn decided that was enough Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu practice for the day. I, for one, was exhausted.

I sat on a bench at the side of the room, drinking some water from a water bottle. Eduard sat next to me.

"You're getting better. I'm a specialist in BJJ, so it's no surprise that it took you a while to get the hang of it." He said.

"Thanks… Coach said you specialize in three things; BJJ is one, what're the other two?" I asked.

"Wrestling and Judo. I've been doing all three of those for years and years. I've been wrestling since I was fourteen, been in BJJ since I was seventeen, and got into Judo three years ago. It's hard to believe I'm twenty five; a lot of the guys say that I look like I'm eighteen or nineteen."

"You'll be the envy of the universe when you're forty and look to be in your twenties."

"Haha. You think so?"

"Yeah. So, where are you from, Ed? You sound a bit German to me."

"Well, that's part of the accent. I'm actually Estonian."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. I was born in Loksa, but since my parents didn't want me growing up with all the Russians that live there, we moved to Tallinn… My parents are kind of racist, but I don't care much. A Russian is a Russian to me. But anyways, where are you from? I know you're Scandinavian by the way you talk, but I can't pinpoint it. I'm going to take a guess and say you're Danish?"

"Yep. Pure blooded Dane. Born and raised in Copenhagen."

"I've always wanted to go to Denmark. Seems like a nice place."

"It is. Trust me. I wouldn't have wanted to be raised anywhere else."

"Yeah."

I took a drink of my water. "So have you ever thought of getting an official fight in an MMA league? I mean, you've got the skill."

"Well, I've thought about it. But I don't think getting beat the hell out of would be worth it. I'm strictly a ground game fighter. Striking? Not so much. If I punched you right now, you probably wouldn't feel it."

"I think you'd be a great fighter. Honestly."

"Someday I may reconsider joining an actual league, but now isn't the time. I'll stick with being a ground training partner."

"If you say so, Ed."

After a few moments of silence, my coach approached Eduard and I, carrying a magazine.

"Hey Mathias, you're in an article in this magazine." He handed me the magazine, which was opened to a page where a picture of the moment where I kneed Matthew in the face to knock him out was shown, along with my fighter profile and picture.

"Says "_New WCFL fighter "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler stuns large crowd with brutal knockout to win debut against Matthew Williams." _Then goes on with details of the fight… Why the hell is everyone calling me "The Rookie"? Matthew called me that, and now it's in a magazine?" I questioned.

"Looks like you've acquired a nickname." Eduard said.

"I don't think I want to be called "The Rookie" for the next few years I'm in the league."

"I think it sounds cool. I mean, a lot of good fighters have had nicknames that they don't like at first, but grow to become attached to. Like Tolvorn here."

"Yes, that's true." Tolvorn said. "My nickname back when I was fighting was "The Protagonist". When people started calling me that, I thought "what kind of MMA fighter calls themselves a protagonist?" But then I realized, hey, I guess this isn't so bad. Antagonists normally lose, right? And the protagonists win. That meant that I would win. Even though I racked up a few losses, I still got the vast majority of my fights to be wins."

"But seriously? "The Rookie"?"

"Technically, it's true. You just started your career. You're the new guy, the rookie." Eduard said.

I sighed. "Whatever. I guess I'll just have to deal with it."

"Good. Now take a look over there." Tolvorn motioned to the entrance to the main area of the gym, where my opponent whom I had met yesterday was entering with his coach. Nikodemos Antonov… I had to see how this guy worked.

Tolvorn, Eduard, and I sat there, watching as Nikodemos' coach briefed him before waking over to us.

"You guys using that ring?" His coach questioned.

"No. Go ahead and take it." Tolvorn responded. Niko and his coach went up to the ring, and were soon busy at work. His coach was using padded gloves while Nike worked on his stand up skills.

I found my vision gravitation towards one of the hanging punching bags in the gym, where Oxenstierna was at work, boxing with heavy fists. The man's body glistened with sweat, which dampened his golden blonde hair into a matted mess. His blue eyes concentrated on the punching bag with a sort of seriousness I doubted would ever be broken. The Swede laid out some serious combinations, the chain of the punching bag rattling loudly. He then stopped and sighed, staring down at the ground.

I leaned over slightly to ask Eduard a question.

"Who's Oxenstierna training to fight…?" I whispered.

"Novak Novkovic. It's for a shot at the title. Oxenstierna wants that fourth rematch against Kirzigian so bad."

"What if he loses the bout against Novkovic?"

"He'll drop in ranks and probably have to fight Begovich or maybe Jones. It depends on who in all wins their fights."

"I see…"

"If you win against Niko, you'll probably get a chance to fight one of the Beilschmidt brothers. Most likely Gilbert. But let's not think about that right now, you should be focusing on Nikodemos."

"Yeah…" I looked back to my opponent, whom was still training.

After a few minutes of watching his progress with Niko's stand up, he and his coach switched over to his ground game.

Once again, I found myself watching Oxenstierna instead of my opponent. What was so magnetizing about that Swede that made me look over at him so much? Sure, he was a great fighter and I was intrigued by his skill, but there was something else that just pulled me in to want to watch him longer.

For a split second, Oxenstierna glanced my way. Our eyes met, and neither of us glanced away. He stopped what he had been doing for a moment, but then was hollered at by his coach and was forced to tear his eyes off of mine. He then continued to work on his combinations like nothing had ever happened.

What was that look in his eyes? It was intense, and I found myself cringing slightly as I realized those eyes were burned into my mind. I turned to watch Nikodemos, but couldn't focus. I looked to Eduard.

"What's the deal with Oxenstierna…? He looked at me once, and now I don't know what the hell to think…"

"People call that the "Beast effect". It's Oxenstierna's intimidation. He uses it to his advantage in nearly every fight he gets; just combine his stature and skill with a killer glare. I'm surprised he isn't champion yet by just looking at people. Kirzigian must either be used to that glare, or has just always been immune to it. He's the only fighter who's managed to beat Oxenstierna."

"God, Oxenstierna gives me chills… I'd say I wasn't afraid, but that's such a lie…"

"Just about everyone fears him in one way or another. Except for Kirzigian… I really don't understand how Oxenstierna can't beat him. He's got the size advantage, the weight advantage, the intimidation advantage… Kirzigian just mows right through him. It's that left hand, I swear."

"Left hand?"

"You don't know about how dangerous the left hand of Kirzigian is, do you?"

"I just know the guy's dangerous as fuck."

"Listen here, Mathias… That left hand of Kirzigian has been described as getting hit by a train. Back when Kirzigian had a five and zero record, the guy he had beaten to get that fifth win described it that way."

"Who was it that said that?"

"It was Zlatko Pilav. Retired with a record of 36-21. He left permanently due to a career ending leg injury, but said that he was going to retire soon anyways due to his losing streak."

"How long ago did he retire?"

"Six years ago. He's forty-five now, I think."

"So he lost to early Kirzigian by that left hand?"

"Yep."

"Ed, you know a shit ton of information about the WCFL. Where the hell do you store this in your head?"

"I've done quite a bit of studying of this league. Ever since I got into BJJ, I've been studying the fighters and their histories. My idol was and still is Francis Bonnefoy, first BJJ-centric champion of the WCFL."

"Isn't that a poster of him right up there?" I pointed to a large framed poster across the room from where Eduard and I were sitting.

"Yes, actually. That was an advertisement poster of the Bonnefoy – Kirkland title fight in 1991."

"Who was Kirkland?"

"He was an amazing Generalist. Started off real strong, but once he lost the bout with Bonnefoy he just fell apart. Racked up twelve straight losses, and then retired. He now coaches Alfred Jones."

"Bonnefoy coach anyone?"

"No. But he's the official promoter of WCFL fights nowadays. You'll probably meet him if you have to pose for advertisements and anything like that."

"So you know a lot about retired fighters, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do. I know quite a bit about many of the coaches and staff that were former fighters. There's a hallway leading to one of the exits to this building that has a large plaque with the engraved names of every champion in the WCFL hanging on the wall. Tolvorn's name is on there. Kirzigian's name is on there… Who knows, maybe your name will end up on there someday."

"I doubt it."

"You never know. Back in 1980 when Fredrick Jones and Lodovico Vargas fought for Jones' title, everyone saw Lodovico as the underdog."

"Is Fredrick Jones related to Alfred Jones?"

"Yes, actually. Alfred Jones is Fredrick Jones' only son."

"How old is Alfred?"

"Alfred is twenty-three. Fredrick was thirty-one when Alfred was born in 1988."

"I'm guessing Fredrick retired soon after Alfred was born?"

"Yeah. Fredrick retired a year and a half after. Funny part is, Lodovico announced his retirement not too soon after, and the two took over the company. Lodovico is the chairman; Fredrick is kind of like a vice-chairman."

"Hey, are you two done chatting? I'd like to get some cardio training in for you Mathias. If you want to stick around Eduard, I'll put you to work as well." Tolvorn interrupted our conversation.

"And do what?" Eduard asked.

"Time him. Here," Tolvorn tossed him a small red stopwatch and put his hands on his hips. "See how long it takes him to do twenty laps around the gym, jogging. I'll be counting."

I stood and sighed, stretching a bit before setting up to start my laps.

"Tell him when to start, Eduard." Tolvorn said, taking a seat on the bench where I had been sitting before.

"Go." Eduard said, clicking the start button on the stopwatch. I started my laps, and by the time I was at my twentieth, I was breathing heavily and my legs were hurting. Yeah, I knew my cardio was going to be lacking.

I finished and walked over to Tolvorn and Eduard.

"What was my time?" I asked between breaths. Good God, I did not know twenty laps could wear me down so fast.

"Nine minutes forty-seven seconds." Eduard said.

"By the time your match with Nikodemos comes along. I want that to be cut in half. You need a lot of work cardiovascular-wise. Strength, you're fine. Speed, could use some work. Take a half-hour break; once it's over you're going to do some combinations on the punching bags to work on precision and speed. Eduard, you're going to be my assistant for the day. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I'll be back." Tolvorn said, heading off.

Still trying to catch my breath, I sat down on the bench next to my Estonian training partner.

"Damn… One hell of a coach I got, don't I?" I said.

"Just look on the bright side. By the time you fight Niko, you'll be way above his level of fitness." Eduard responded.

"If I don't have a heart attack first…. God, I knew I'd do a lot of work… But spontaneously doing twenty laps around the gym after tangling with you for three hours? If that's the kind of hell Tolvorn is going to put me through, I don't know if I'll be able to last."

"Think positive, dumbass." Eduard flicked the side of my head. "You'll be fine."


	3. Køhler vs Antonov

Six weeks had gone by like it was only an hour. It was the day before my scheduled fight with Nikodemos Antonov, and I was going to be interviewed by the press about my upcoming fight.

This conference was my first big event with the media; this would determine how people thought of me as not just a fighter, but a person. Tolvorn sat next to me at the table, three or four microphones sitting in front of me to capture my words. Cameras filmed from the crowd of press in front of me. I swallowed hard; what the hell was I going to say? I suppose it depended on the question, but still.

I glanced to my side and saw Lodovico Vargas and Fredrick Jones standing next to eachother, talking quietly. I then looked to Tolvorn.

"Don't worry, Rookie." He said. "This won't be hard."

I nodded a bit. Soon the conference was started and questions were starting to be asked.

"What is your opinion on Nikodemos Antonov?" One journalist questioned.

"Well, he's a great fighter. I've trained like there's no tomorrow for the past six weeks in order to prepare for this guy… I have a lot of respect for his skill; I've watched his fights online. He's a scary BJJ practitioner, and his Muay Thai is decent as well." I responded.

"How do you plan to win your fight?"

"I'm going to make him fight my fight. If he goes to the ground, I'm not going to take any risks. I want him on his feet the entire time; he may be a good striker, but I think that I have a slight edge over him when on my feet."

"Regarding your last fight against Matthew Williams; how were you feeling in the cage during your very first professional match?"

"I felt good. I just remembered everything that I'd been told before by my coach, Tolvorn Ryker, and I came off with the win. Matthew Williams is a good fighter though; I'm lucky I didn't get knocked out by that head kick he hit me with."

"So you're saying that your debut win was luck?"

"It wasn't just luck. That was a big part of it though. Luck is a big part of every fight every fighter goes into."

"What is your opinion on the champion of the reigning undefeated WCFL champion, Alexianos "One Man Army" Kirzigian?"

"He's brutal. He's skilled. I hardly knew who the guy was until I came into this league, but I saw him at the World-Class Gym once when he was training. He knocked out his sparring partner within thirty seconds of starting to fight with him. I took the time to watch a few of his fights online… Kirzigian is the perfect fighter, if I've ever seen one."

Similar questions were asked for about a half hour before the conference came to a conclusion. As my coach and I exited, he patted my back.

"Now that wasn't so hard, now was it, Mathias?" He said.

"I don't like the spotlight all that much. But, it wasn't too bad. The media sounds actually kind of optimistic about me as a fighter." I replied.

"Well, that's a good sign. A lot of guys like you get bad critique from the media. And your opponent is one of them."

"Why? He doesn't seem like too bad a guy."

"He's cockier than hell. You want to know what he said about you during his press conference yesterday?"

"Sure."

"Let's get back to the gym and I'll show you on one of the computers in the back."

When we got to the gym and onto one of the computers, I watched over my shoulder the filmed interview with Nikodemos Antonov. He had been asked his opinion of me, and shook his head a bit, smirking.

"_Køhler is just one lucky bastard to come off with a win over Williams. If he thinks that he has the skill to beat me, he better think again. He may have the size advantage, but I'm superior compared to him. He's going down, whether it's by knockout or submission. I'm going to hurt him so I can wipe that ridiculous grin off his face. He isn't going to get past me."_

I furrowed my brow and crossed my arms.

"What the hell have I ever done to him to deserve that kind of disrespect?" I questioned. Tolvorn paused the video and chuckled a bit.

"Now you have the perfect reason to beat the shit out of that guy." He said.

"You weren't kidding when you said he was cocky. I'll shut him up and win. He won't have anything to say."

"That's the spirit I need you to bring into the ring tomorrow night. But don't get too cocky; stick to the plan. Don't get careless. Keep him stood up so that you have a better chance."

"Gotcha, coach."

"Now head on home to your apartment and get plenty of rest. I need you sharp and ready to fight tomorrow. You know what time to meet me here."

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you, rookie."

I smiled a bit as I turned and left the gym. On my way out the door, I bumped shoulders with a certain opponent of mine.

"Watch where you're going, Køhler." Niko said with malice.

"Save the hostility for the octagon, Antonov." I responded as I went out the door.

I soon found myself lying in bed at my apartment, staring up at the ceiling. My heart was beating quickly in anticipation for the day that I would awaken to. It would be my second professional fight, and it would definitely be an aggressive one. Nikodemos had run his mouth just enough during his press conference to piss me off. Just because I was "The Rookie" did not mean that he had and reason to disrespect me like he had.

I breathed out a sigh and rolled over on my side, closing my eyes. I would deal with my frustration in the octagonal cage tomorrow night. I would deal with Nikodemos Antonov and show him that I belonged.

Ooo

When my time to step out of the locker room and go to the octagonal cage in the center of the packed arena, Tolvorn placed his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes before I headed out.

"Stick to the plan, Mathias. You've got it burned into your mind by now; what is it?" He asked.

"Keep him stood up." I responded.

"Good. Now let's get you in that cage." He said, handing me my mouth guard as we exited the locker room. I slipped the mouth guard into place in my mouth and followed him down a lane in between the stands that lead to the octagonal cage. Nikodemos was already standing in his corner, bouncing on his feet, looking ready to fight.

I stood in my corner and placed my hands on my hips, breathing steadily. I was so nervous, to be honest. But I couldn't let it show. Not to Nikodemos. Not to anyone.

The Irish announcer stepped into the center of the mat and began to speak into his microphone.

"And now, an under-card fight. Introducing first, fighting out of the red corner with a record of one win and zero losses, this man is a Generalist, fighting out of Copenhagen, Denmark. Standing at six feet tall, weighing two-hundred three pounds, he is "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

I raised my fist in the air as some slight cheering was achieved. I had built a tiny reputation with the crowd, which was a start. The crowd died down for the introduction of my opponent.

"And now, fighting out of the blue corner with a record of six wins and three losses, this man is a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Muay Thai fighter, fighting out of Skopje, Macedonia. Standing at five feet nine inches tall, weighing in at one-hundred seventy-two pounds, he is Nikodemos Antonov!"

The crowd cheered for the Macedonian, which just made me want to hit him harder. I went through the plan my coach and I had come up with over and over in my head. Keep him stood up. Keep him stood up. Keep him stood up. I think I'd got it down.

Once the media and the announcer cleared, the ref spread his arms out and looked to each of us. We both nodded, putting our fists up in silent signals that we were ready.

"Let's go!" The ref shouted. Nikodemos and I slowly approached eachother, staring eachother in the eyes. Who was going to throw the first punch? Apparently, me.

I went for a straight jab with my right hand, and immediately found myself tangled in the clinch of Antonov, something that was extremely dangerous due to his Muay Thai.

He held onto me tightly and kneed me in the ribs quite a few times before going for a single-leg takedown. I, despite my training, went down. Nikodemos Antonov now was in half-guard, sitting on my right leg. I guarded as he tried to punch me a few times, but then found him going for a transition to full mount, which he got successfully.

"What the hell are you doing, Mathias! Hold him steady! Don't let him move like that!" Tolvorn shouted from outside the cage. I thought for a quick moment, but my head was rattled by a heavy elbow striking just under my left eye. Holy hell; that hurt.

I grabbed his arm and then pulled him down to my chest, trying to keep him from beating the shit out of me. The round had hardly started and I was already screwing up.

To my surprise, Niko transitioned down to side mount. But then I understood why. Without warning, he clutched my arm and flipped over on his back, pulling my arm down on the center of his body. It was an arm bar, and he nearly had it locked in.

I tensed my muscles and rolled my body towards him, attempting to get to my feet. He was now on his back with me towering over him. He still had a tight grip on my arm though.

I grit my teeth and lifted upwards with all my strength, pulling Nikodemos off the ground and slamming him back down. He released my arm with a grunt, and I backed away, bouncing on my toes as he stood.

Once he got close enough, I teed off, throwing a flurry of punches, starting with a left uppercut that connected. I then threw a few hooks which were guarded, and the kicked the outside of his left leg with my lead foot. He stepped forward with a predictable right overhand punch, which I stepped backwards away from.

We circled eachother for a few moments, faking eachother out here and there. The black-haired buzz cut Macedonian' bright blue eyes stared right into mine.

Then I saw my chance to try something I'd taken from Matthew Williams. I stepped forwards and went for a head kick, which connected solidly. Nikodemos stumbled back, and I went on the attack as he went up against the cage.

His arms defended his head from punches, so I targeted his exposed body with a flurry of hard punches. He dropped his arms then to guard his body, and I lifted my aim to his head. The shorter man ducked to escape and moved to the side quickly. I followed his slightly staggered movement, and was about to continue my onslaught, but the bell rung, signaling the end of the round.

Nikodemos and I made our ways to our corners and sat in the stools our coaches provided us.

"You're doing great, Mathias." Tolvorn told me. "You got out of his submission, and almost knocked him out there. Don't get nervous if you miss a shot, or if he hits you. That first round was all yours on the scorecards. Just stick to the standup game, stay out of his clinch. If you get too close to him, he'll kill you with his Muay Thai. Bring in more kicks, Mathias. Those leg kicks; I want to see his legs bruised the same color as his face. Beat him the best you can; let all your frustration out. You've got this in the bag, Mathias. Now stand up, keep your hands up, and win this fight." He said.

I nodded and stood, staring down my opponent who glared right back as he stood. The coaches then cleared the ring.

The bell rung signaling the start of the second round, and Nikodemos and I were circling eachother once again. Since he wasn't going to throw the first hit of the round, I went for a kick to his side, which landed perfectly. He grunted, and I took it as a sign that the kick had hurt.

I then moved forward with a hard leg kick, causing Nikodemos to stumble. I went forward once again with another kick to his side, which I knew hurt him again.

"That's it Mathias! Just like that!" Tolvorn shouted.

For a split second, my attention turned away from my opponent. Bad choice.

Nikodemos jumped into the air and nailed me with a flying knee, a Muay Thai knee to the head that hurt like hell. I stumbled backwards then fell, but quickly forced myself to stand up. My left eye was swelled slightly, causing my vision to blur a bit from that side.

Nikodemos, being the quick bastard he was, went after me with a large amount of punches, which I attempted to block.

"Get out of range, Mathias!" Tolvorn demanded. I tried to listen and moved to the side, then backed up out of Nikodemos' punch range, giving me a moment to gather my bearings.

With slightly blurred vision, I threw a kick towards Nikodemos' head. I felt it connect, and watched as the Macedonian went down. Without thinking, I jumped on top of him and tried to finish the fight on the ground. Yet another bad choice.

Nikodemos quickly transitioned into a set up for a Kimura. He locked it in quickly, but I refused to lose. Even as pain surged through my shoulder, which surely would be dislocated soon, I struggled and writhed trying to escape. Finally, after what must have been thirty seconds of pure agony in my shoulder, Nikodemos let go. I stood and backed away, breathing quickly and heavily, while Niko stood, staring at me in awe. I had just endured one of his submissions.

"That a-boy Mathias!" Tolvorn called out.

I put my fists up and shook my arm a bit, trying to ease off the pain in my shoulder. Nikodemos put his fists up and threw a few punches. But he was now careless and clumsy. I easily countered, and with one mighty uppercut, Nikodemos fell to the ground. He was out cold.

But there was no celebration for me. I sighed and clutched my shoulder with my opposite hand, cringing as coaches and medical personnel crowded the area. Tolvorn approached me.

"You better not have hurt yourself too bad. That was a stupid move to go to the ground with Antonov, but you got the win. I'm proud of you, rookie." He said, patting my uninjured shoulder.

"Yeah… Thanks coach." I replied as I went to the center of the ring and stood next to the ref, whom took a hold of my wrist. A dumbfounded Nikodemos was soon standing, and went to the other side of the ref. The Irish announcer soon began to speak.

"And now, declaring the winner by knockout. "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

The referee raised my arm up, which I kept up as he let go. I grinned and looked around to the crowd and the media, nodding my head.

I was soon escorted out of the octagonal cage by a worried-looking Tolvorn.

"Kid, we should get your shoulder checked out by medical staff. Just in case, you know? If you hurt your shoulder, you won't be able to train for a while."

"Yeah, I know… Just let me get a shower and change, and then we'll head to the medical room to get this checked out…"

"I'm glad you won, rookie… But God, don't do anything stupid like that again. Trying to get out of a submission once it's fully locked in is an extremely dangerous thing to do."

"I know, I know." I muttered as we entered the locker room. "But you told me to win, and that's what I did. You told me to let all of my frustration out. I did. You told me to beat him the best I could. I did. Injured shoulder or not, I wasn't going to walk out of there the loser. Not after how disrespectful he was."

My coach let out a heavy sigh. "Just get your shower and get dressed… After you're done we'll go to the medical room and get you checked out. Then we have to go to the post-fight conference. If you want, I can do the talking for you."

"No. I'll do the talking at the conference."

"Alright. I'll be back in twenty minutes." Tolvorn turned and left, and I sighed, rubbing my shoulder. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I hoped it wasn't too bad though; I really wanted to continue my training to prepare for my next opponent.

When my coach returned, I had showered and dressed.

"Hey, uh… Someone's here to talk to you." He said.

"Who is it?"

Just as I asked that question, a man a never expected to ever see in my vicinity came into view.

"Hey there." It was Alexianos Kirzigian. "I'm Alexianos. I was watching that fight; you've got a lot of guts to escape two of Antonov's submissions like that. You're doing well for a start, Køhler. Two knockouts in a row. I'm glad to see a fighter like you join in the WCFL. We've needed a guy with heart like you for quite some time. Up in the ranks, I feel like I'm the only one who fights for something that doesn't relate to money or fame."

"Thanks, Kirzigian. I just, you know… I listen to my coach. I don't get cocky. It's odd… I don't quite know if what I'm fighting for will ever be accomplished. I fight to bring pride to my nation. What do you fight for?"

"I fight for my husband Tino, and for my country, Armenia. I fight to prove that you don't have to be as intimidating as Berwald Oxenstierna, or as quick as Alfred F. Jones, or as experienced as Sadik Adnan. And that is what I want you to realize, Mathias. That you don't have to be the absolute best at a skill. That's what I like about Generalists like you, you're well rounded. You have no definite weak point. And that is why I know you will go far in this sport. I can see it in you."

I smiled as Alexianos praised me. "Thanks, Kirzigian… It really means a lot to me that you would say that."

"I want to see you in the ring as my opponent someday, Mathias. Keep up the good work, alright? Now go on and get that shoulder checked out. I'll see you at the gym sometime." With that, Alexianos left the locker room. I, for one, was speechless. Alexianos Kirzigian, undefeated champion of the WCFL had just come in to talk with me; the two win, zero loss new guy nicknamed "The Rookie".

"I think you impressed him, Mathias." Tolvorn said, looking to me.

"You think?"

"Scratch that; I know you impressed him. The champ doesn't just visit a new guy in the locker room because he feels like it. Mathias, you caught his eye. Now you have to keep your record going so you can get a fight with him in the future."

"… Can we just go get my shoulder checked out now before you start rambling, coach? I'm kind of in pain here."

"Yeah, come on."

Ooo

Later that night, I was lying in bed, thoughts circulating in my mind. Alexianos Kirzigian, 39-0 WCFL champion, had gone to my locker room after my match to have a brief chat. He told me that he wanted to see me in the ring someday as his opponent. Basically told me that I was a promising new figure in the league.

With only a 2-0 record and "The Rookie" to my name, I found myself grinning at the fact that I had caught the eye of someone like Kirzigian.

Bad part was, even though I had no clue who I was fighting next, when I did find out in a few days, I wouldn't be able to train for at least a week. Nikodemos' shoulder-lock had damaged something in there, and I had to wait for it to heal.

Just my luck, huh?


	4. Making Friends

When the morning came for me to find out who my new opponent was, I had been restless. I wanted to train so badly, but I couldn't. I had to wait a week for my shoulder to heal.

"Well, this is a lovely surprise, kid." Tolvorn said as he approached me at the gym. I was sitting on that same bench as before with Eduard.

"Why so?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Lodovico really stepped your game up in this next fight. He's pitting you up against his own son. There were three choices for your next fight; Gilbert Beilschmidt, Ivan Braginski, and Lovino Vargas. I was a bit clueless to whom you would want to fight, so Lodovico decided for me. You're fighting Lovino. He's a Generalist like you, so once your healed up we'll have to train all around."

"Any extra info you can tell me, Eduard?" I turned to the Estonian next to me.

"Lovino Vargas as of recent has a record of six wins and one loss. He had his first loss against Cuban boxer Hector Fernandez last week; he was knocked out cold by a right overhand punch."

"So this guy is pretty dangerous?"

"You're getting up to the middle-ranking fighters now, so yes. Lovino Vargas is pretty dangerous compared to the others you've fought. For you to be able to skip over two fighters like Braginski and Beilschmidt is beyond me. Those two rounded off the lower-ranking fighters. Beilschmidt and Braginski have both been losing their last few matches. Beilschmidt has racked up four straight losses; he just gets really overconfident. And then Braginski just hasn't been the same ever since his leg injury that caused him to give up his title shot. He's got six straight losses that dropped his rank way down."

"Wow… What about Lovino? Anything special about him that I should watch for?"

"The guy's cardio is lacking. But he's got a whole hell of a lot of endurance. If you watch one of his earlier fights against Braginski, you'll see that Vargas' sides are both bruised, and his face is battered as well. It seems that he can't get through a fight without bleeding somehow. But even when Braginski teed off and kept beating the hell out of him, Lovino "The Italian Pitbull" Vargas just took the pain, exhausted Braginski, and knocked him out cold in the second round."

"So this guy's a heavy-handed endurance machine."

"For the lack of better words, yes."

"I guess I'll spend my time studying Vargas while I'm waiting for my shoulder to heal."

"Good thinking, rookie." Tolvorn said. "If you want, you can stick around the gym for a while. Socialize with some of the other fighters. You can't train, but you can still strengthen your familiarity with the other fighters. I'm going to head home for the day since I can't really do much with you for training. You know how to study a fighter on your own, but save that for tomorrow. I don't want you being such a stranger around the league."

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, coach."

"See you, rookie." With that, Tolvorn left. I looked to Eduard.

"Say… what was the outcome of the Oxenstierna – Novkovic fight?" I asked him.

"Oxenstierna won late in the third round by Novkovic forfeiting due to an injury."

"What happened?"

"Oxenstierna had repeatedly slammed Novkovic to the ground throughout the three rounds. On the final one, it was a messy, exhausted take down. Novkovic ended up with a dislocated elbow. Tried to brace his fall by putting his hand down on the mat, but his elbow bent the wrong way. He said that he doesn't blame Oxenstierna though, and that things like that happen in this sport all the time."

"What a good sportsman."

"He makes a complete 180 degree turn when he's fighting Andelko Begovich. The two couldn't be more disrespectful to eachother."

"So what about Oxenstierna? Is he good sportsman about all this?"

"Nobody really knows. "The Beast" doesn't talk much. He'll say a sentence or two throughout an entire press conference. From what I do know, he's humble in defeat. He's lost only three times in his career, all three to Kirzigian. Last time he lost to Kirzigian, he said that the guy just kept on proving that he was the champion for a reason, and was the better fighter."

"So he's scary, yet humble? Interesting, to say the least."

"Speak of the devil, there he is." Eduard pointed to the entrance to the gym, where Oxenstierna and his coach had entered. The intensity radiating off the Swede could be felt, even with me sitting across the gym from him.

I watched "The Beast" closely, noticing the bruises that still blemished his face from his fight with Novkovic. There were dark circles under his eyes, and I suspected them to be not from being punched in the eyes, but from a lack of sleep. He did look pretty exhausted, to say the least. The man's movements were sluggish, but his coach paid no regard to his condition and immediately put the Swede to work with a sparring partner.

Oxenstierna got in one of the two rings with his partner after slipping on a pair of gloves. His partner was wearing headgear, a chest protector, a mouth guard, and gloves. It just went to show, the highly-ranked Swedish wrestler was dangerous.

Berwald boxed with his partner a bit, obviously slower than what I had seen him like before his fight with Novkovic. His coach shook his head in disappointment and threw what looked to be a roll of tape at the lethargic Swede in the ring.

"Faster, Berwald. You don't get paid to be gentle." He said. I watched as "The Beast" took a deep breath and tried his best to follow his coach's orders.

"Come on, Berwald! We ought to change your name to "The Kitten"! What the hell kind of punches are you throwing here?" Obviously, his coach was still dissatisfied with his performance. The smaller man tossed a second object at Berwald, which the Swedish wrestler batted away with a hand, angrily turning to his coach.

"Give m' a fucking break and maybe I'll be able t' d' what y' want."

"Suck it up, Oxenstierna. Do you want to beat Kirzigian or not?"

"I won't b' able t' even fight him if y' demoralize m' like y' d'."

Oxenstierna's coach stepped into the ring. "Listen here, Berwald." He pointed a finger in the face of "The Beast".

"N'. I'm done listening t' y'." Berwald said, turning away from his coach and exiting the ring.

"What're you doing, Oxenstierna? Firing me?" His coach questioned, following the tall Swede. Oxenstierna turned around and got mere inches away from his coach, staring him dead in the eyes.

"Yes."

"Fine then. You won't beat Kirzigian without me."

"I've never beat him before, now have I? You've always been m' coach. I think you're th' reason I've failed t' get that championship three times."

"Good luck finding a new coach, bastard." With that, his coach exited. Oxenstierna stood there for a moment before sighing shakily and meandering over to the wall, where he braced himself up against it with his arms above his head. He then slammed his fist against the wall and shook his head.

I stood, concerned for the intense Swede, and approached him.

"You okay, man?" I asked. He glanced to me, then looked away quickly.

"I'm fine, rookie. Don't bother m'." He said, standing up straight.

"Well sorry for being concerned. You just seem pretty upset." I responded. He sighed and looked to me once again.

"I am. Trust m'. Without a coach, I have t' train on m' own…. And I have t' train t' fight Kirzigian nonetheless…"

"What if I got Tolvorn to help you out?"

"Doesn't h' have t' train y'?" 

"Not for a week or so. I injured my shoulder in my last fight."

"I heard about y' escaping two of Antonov's submissions. That was impressive t' say th' least."

"Thanks, Oxenstierna."

"Please, just call m' Berwald." He said. He offered his hand to me to shake; I smiled and grasped his gloved hand with my bare one. It was like electric flowed through my veins when I looked him in the eyes with our hands connected. He was incredibly intense, but somehow when he was battered and bruised, he didn't seem so scary.

"Then you can call me Mathias." I replied.

"Alright." He said as we let go of eachother's hands. We stared at eachother silently for a few moments, just like we had before. There were no words to describe the look in his eyes. Intensity? Well, that always lingered in those cerulean blues. Contemplation? Connection? I wasn't too sure; it was making me confused.

When he tore his gaze away from me, he glanced to his training partner, whom was sitting outside of the ring, out of his protective gear.

"Y' can head home if you'd like." He said. His training partner nodded and headed off. Berwald then sighed.

"Is your coach around?" He asked me.

"No. Tolvorn left since I can't do any training." I responded.

"I see… Well, I'm going t' head home and rest… I'm s' tired… Haven't had enough time t' recover from fighting Novkovic."

"I can tell. Take it easy, Berwald."

"Y' too." He said before turning and heading over to the side of the ring. He gathered his things, and then left the gym. I turned around and walked back over to Eduard.

"Well, that was certainly interesting." The Estonian commented as I sat down on the bench.

"… Yeah… I agree. Man… that was something else… Shaking hands with him of all people? That was… just plain intense… It wasn't as scary as when I first locked eyes with him… It was almost… compelling."

"That's a first, to say the least. No one's ever called the stare of "The Beast" compelling."

We were both silent for quite some time, before Eduard spoke once again.

"Well that's an interesting thought…" He muttered.

"What?" I asked.

"Mathias, quick question; are you gay? Not that I'll ridicule you or anything, but I just had weird thought."

"Yeah, I am gay. But, uh, why do you ask?"

"Could you possibly be attracted to Oxenstierna?"

I stared blankly at Eduard for a few moments before the thought sunk in, and I realized fully that in-fact was attracted to Berwald.

"Well shit…" I looked away. "I guess I do have a little crush on him… You won't tell anyone, right…?"

"Of course not. Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks a lot… Man, if Berwald ever found out about this, he'd probably kill me… I don't think he's gay in the least."

"Well, surprisingly, you aren't alone in this league. There's two or three others that I know are homosexual."

"Really? Who?"

"Well, Kirzigian is. He's actually married to a guy I'm close friends with. I've never personally met Kirzigian though."

"Who else is there?"

"Then there's Matthew, actually."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Last year when he won his debut, as he was being escorted out of the ring, he turned to one of the guys that was escorting and kissed. In an affectionate way, too."

"Who was the other guy?"

"No one's too sure. No one's ever had the guts to ask him about it."

"How interesting…"

"Yeah."

'Now you've got me curious, Eduard. Are you gay?"

"Actually, I am." He said, blushing slightly. "I've kept it hidden for years and years… I'm just too shy to tell anyone. You're the first person to hear this from me that isn't Tino Väinämöinen."

"Well, I'll consider myself lucky then. You're a good guy, Eduard."

"I've been told that before."

"Probably."

"So how long do you think it's going to be before you blurt out to Oxenstierna that you like him?"

"Eh… Give or take a few months. This'll drive me insane sooner or later."

"I figured that you weren't one to hold in feelings for very long."

I chuckled a bit. "Do I have that obvious of a personality?"

"Well, you're a lot more sociable than the majority of the guys in the league. I'm surprised Oxenstierna even talked to you, when he hardly talks period."

"Well, then that's good news to me."

"I bet it is."

"So who in the league isn't really sociable? I mean, I may not have been around here too long, but everyone I've talked to isn't too bad. Matthew was nice. Nikodemos, well… Nikodemos is just cocky. And then Kirzigian talked to me-"

"Wait; Kirzigian talked to you? When, where, and why the hell was I not told of this?"

"Yeah, he did. After my match with Nikodemos I had just gotten dressed in the locker room and Tolvorn came in, saying someone wanted to talk to me. Turns out, I had caught the eye of Kirzigian. He said that he was glad to see a fighter like me in the WCFL. Gave me some advice, and told me that I would go far in this sport. Also that he wanted me to be his opponent in the octagon someday."

"Well I'll be damned. That isn't hard to believe though; your fight with Nikodemos was pretty awesome. Minus your shoulder injury, that is. Say, how much did you get paid for that fight anyways?"

"Well, let's just say without any sponsors behind my back, I'm underpaid for what I do. My fights with both Williams and Antonov total up to about a 30,500 dollar profit."

"That's still more than I get paid for the amount of work I do."

"How much is Tolvorn paying you for training with me?"

"1130 dollars a week. For a year's worth of working with you I'll get paid 58760 dollars. One more win and you'll have more total profit from your fighting than I make in a year."

"Man, Tolvorn is seriously underpaying you for the amount of work you do. You know what I'm going to do?"

"What?"

"Share my cut with you. A good guy like you shouldn't have to work two jobs when you train like you do with me."

"What? No, I insist you don't do that. I couldn't possibly accept any money from you."

"Well I insist you do. Man, this is a serious problem. I don't want to be rolling in cash while you don't even have half of what I do. I'll split my next pay with you."

"Mathias…" Eduard was going to protest further, but sighed. "There's no changing your mind, huh?"

"Not at all. Consider it compensation for all you do for me, and will do for me in the future. You're an awesome training partner; seriously. You deserve as much money as one of us fighters do."

"Thanks a lot, man… This means a lot that you would do this for me."

"It's not a problem. Say, since we aren't training or nothing, want to go get something to eat?"

"Sure. Ah, I know the perfect place too. Tino, Kirzigian's husband, works at a little café downtown. They have real nice food despite the small size of the place, and not to mention that Tino's working today. He'll be happy to meet you, I'm sure."

"Sounds good. Let's go."

Eduard and I both stood and headed for the exit to the gym.

"Who's car?" I asked.

"We can take mine." Eduard replied. "But what about yours? You sure you want to leave it here?"

"It'll be fine. It's locked, and it doesn't have anything real important in it. Just some gear."

"Alright. Just making sure. Tolvorn always tells me not to let you do anything stupid, which I'm sure you'll do plenty of when not under my watch." He said, letting out a laugh. I playfully pushed him, grinning and laughing as well.

"Hey now, don't be pushing me around. I may be tempted to shove that shoulder of yours back in place." He joked. I shrugged and chuckled.

"You wouldn't be able to hurt me unless you were taking me down, Ed."

"Oh, you want to bet?"

"No, I don't. I'd rather not get hurt again."

"What?" He laughed. "Didn't you just say that I couldn't hurt you? That's one hell of a contradiction."

"Oh shush. So what if I contradict myself, Mr. Von Bock."

"Oh, you fancy now? Jackass."

"Maybe that's what I should call myself instead of "The Rookie". Imagine that," I said as we got to Eduard's silver sedan and got in. "Mathias "The Jackass" Køhler."

We both laughed, basically making fun of eachother the entire time we were heading down to the café. When we got there, the place was basically dead. There was only one car parked outside, which I assumed was Tino's.

Eduard parked his car next to the black Jeep Wrangler, and he and I got out.

"Damn nice car your friend's got." I commented.

"Yeah. Kirzigian bought it for him." Eduard responded as we walked in the door of the café. A small bell rung over our heads, and a guy whom looked like he was twenty came into view behind a counter with a cash register.

"Hey Tino." Eduard greeted the guy. Tino came out from behind the counter and gave my Estonian friend a big hug.

"Good morning Eduard. How are you doing? I haven't seen you in a while." Tino was pretty cheerful to say the least.

"I've been doing well, actually." Eduard replied with a smile. "And you?"

"I've been great. Bored this morning though; it's a slow day as you can tell."

"Yeah. Hey, I wanted you to meet someone." Eduard motioned to me. "This is Mathias Køhler, newest addition to the WCFL. I've been his training partner since he joined up."

"I've heard plenty about you, "Rookie"." Tino said with a smile. "Alexianos was talking about you sometime after your win over Nikodemos."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I'm very glad to meet you though; he said you seem like a very nice guy."

"I've been told that before."

"I bet you have. So do you two want anything to eat or drink? I've got the place all to myself until four o'clock when Eliza comes around to do her shift."

We sat at that café talking for what must have been a three or four hours. Tino was really nice, and that was an understatement. Alexianos was a lucky guy.

I learned quite a bit about how Tino coped with having to watch Alexianos fight so brutally, and how he dealt with having to live with a man whom was hardly ever home. I also learned fairly quickly that Tino was the youngest out of us, being only twenty-two. I was twenty-three, and Eduard was twenty-five. I actually looked the oldest though, seeing that my height and muscularity made me look like I was at least in my upper twenties.

I, along with all the information I had gained about Tino, learned quite a bit more about Alexianos, and what he was like outside of his job. As it turned out, the Armenian champion was a real sweetheart to Tino, always telling him that he was the only thing that really mattered to him. I almost found that hard to believe, but hey, people are different during their job than they are on their off-time.

As Eduard and I exited the café after our goodbyes to Tino, we entered the Estonian's car, refreshed and both in rather good moods.

"Told you he would be happy to meet you." Eduard said, smiling.

"I think he'd have a smile on his face even if an axe murdered was raiding the café." I joked, laughing a bit.

"He'd kick the axe murderer's ass. Trust me. He may be kind of short, but he is someone to be feared. He has a license to carry a gun, you know."

"And now I know not to fuck with Tino or Alexianos."

"Damn straight. I fear for my life when those two are in the same room together."

"Yeah, I think I would too."

"Haha… Well, let's get you back to the gym so you can get your car and head home. Watch, when we get there your car will be either gone, or your windows will be broken." He said as he pulled the car out of the parking lot.

"I don't know who in the right mind would steal an MMA fighter's car, or steal anything from them. I don't know who in the right mind does that anyways."

"Only people dumber than you, Mathias." He laughed. I playfully punched him in the arm.

"Hey now, rookie, I'm trying to drive." He responded, chuckling.

"Well I'm trying to be the passenger of your lovely sedan."

"Pfft… This piece of junk is a little less than lovely."

"It's better than what a lot of people have, I have to say."

"Well, that's true."

When we arrived at the gym, I said my farewell to Eduard and got out of his car, heading to mine. I unlocked my dark blue pickup's door and hopped in with a sigh.

"Now to go spend my day studying Lovino Vargas at home… How nice." I muttered with sarcasm.

As I headed on my way to my apartment, I glanced over at a magazine that was sitting on the passenger seat. It was flipped open to a page that had an article about my win over Antonov.

I smiled to myself. 2-0. So far, so good.


	5. Køhler vs Vargas

Six weeks soon passed by quickly, and I found myself walking out of the locker room towards the octagonal cage in the center of the arena once again. I had allowed my shoulder to heal from my fight with Nikodemos, giving me only four and a half weeks of training for the fight I was currently walking into.

Tolvorn accompanied me as I entered the cage, the mat crowded with media and coaches, along with that same Irish announcer, and last but not least my opponent; Lovino Vargas. As I stood in the red corner, wearing white and red trunks, red gloves, and a serious look on my face, I studied my opponent.

He was an auburn-haired Italian with brown eyes and a scowl on his face. He had on a pair of tight, dark green, mid-thigh length shorts; the type of shorts I swore never to wear. It did reveal that the Italian had muscular thighs, meaning he used his legs quite a bit. I had studied up on his previous fights; Vargas loved to make his opponent move around the ring, and he had an indescribably amazing cardio. For a Generalist like I was, he could have easily classified himself as a kickboxer.

The announcer stepped up to the center of the mat for the introductions, and I slowly paced my corner, my eyes focused on "The Italian Pitbull".

"And now, an under-card fight. Introducing first, fighting out of the red corner with a record of two wins and zero losses, this man is a Generalist, fighting out of Copenhagen, Denmark. Standing at six feet tall, weighing two-hundred pounds, he is "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

I smirked a bit as the crowd cheered, louder than they had during my fight with Nikodemos. Oh yes, I was making a name for myself.

"Now, fighting out of the blue corner with a record of six wins and one loss, this man is also a generalist, fighting out of Salerno, Italy. Standing at five feet seven inches tall, weighing one-hundred sixty –two pounds, he is Lovino "The Italian Pitbull" Vargas!"

But Vargas still had more fame than me. The crowd erupted into a roar for the formerly undefeated Italian.

As the coaches and such cleared the octagonal cage, I stared into the eyes of my opponent. I had the height and weight advantages, but he had the record advantage. He was 6-1. I was 2-0. Who knew if I would survive against a guy who went six wins before his first loss.

The ref looked to both Lovino and I. "Are you ready?" My opponent and I nodded, putting our fists up as the ref then commenced the fight.

Lovino was bouncing on his toes in a low stance, back, forth, side to side, trying to fake me out and get a shot in. I had studied up on his unusual style, but it wasn't enough to escape a nasty overhand punch that connected with the right side of my face.

I remained on my feet and attempted to throw a straight left to the Italian's body, but he was quick and countered easily with a vicious uppercut that made me stumble slightly.

"Stay on your toes, Mathias! Don't let him move you around!" Tolvorn shouted. I moved forward towards Lovino with my fists up, and placed a quick kick to the outside of his lead leg.

The Italian simply endured the hit and placed two quick punches to my ribs, followed by a kick to my left side, which nearly knocked the wind from me. I backed away slightly, barely avoiding a spinning-backfist from the quick "Italian Pitbull" that surely would have connected if I was another few inches forward.

Lovino moved forward once again with a push-kick, which I caught mid-impact with my hands. I attempted a single-leg takedown, but the Italian man simply used my momentum against me and spun, causing me to fall onto my stomach. He clambered on top of my back and wrapped his legs around my midsection, wrapping his arm around my neck and pulling me back so that we were on our backs.

It was a choke known as the rear-naked choke; but he was doing a version of it that hurt like hell. It was the "clasping hands" variation. His supporting hand clasped the hand of his choking arm, allowing more pressure to be applied to my neck, which caused more pain but gave me slightly more movement with my head.

I struggled and attempted to get out of the choke before I lost consciousness; thankfully I was successful in turning my body around and ended up in Vargas' guard. I breathed heavily; trying to make up for oxygen I had been restricted from getting.

Lovino, holding my head down to his chest with one hand, pounded the side of my face with his other one mercilessly. I brought my arm up to defend that side of my face; I didn't want to get knocked out like this. After about a minute of no transitions or submission attempts, the ref made the choice to stand us up. We both got to our feet and faced eachother.

The ref allowed us to continue, and I placed a gloved fist out in front of me. He pounded it with his own in a form of respect then we continued the brawl.

He unleashed a vicious head kick that landed with brutal force, knocking me down with a thud. I was in a daze, rocked and in pain. Before I knew it, Lovino was on top of me, attempting to pound my face in. I brought my hands up and countered his punches a few times with body shots, but I was saved from being completely knocked out by the sound of a bell. The rather one-sided round had ended.

Lovino got off of me and retreated over to his corner. I slowly stood and headed over to mine, now noticing the two gashes in my face. One was above my left eyebrow, and one was on the bridge of my nose. As I sat on the chair provided by my coach, a medical staff member came over and began working on the cuts to stop the bleeding. Tolvorn began to talk as I cringed slightly.

"You're doing alright, kid. You're doing alright. Don't get upset about that round. I want you to get in close, get in the clinch. That's where he's weak is in the clinch. Just stay in close so he can't move you around the ring, alright? If he hits you, don't back up; move forward. If you hit him, don't take the time to give him a chance to counter. Just keep throwing those hands in there; don't use the kicks because that makes you vulnerable to his counters. Keep your hands up, keep in close, and keep him from taking you down. He's quick about everything he does, and can't be worn out, so you have to knock him out or else he'll dominate these rounds. If you can get into an advantage position on the ground, don't just sit there for a minute like you did earlier. Try to transition and beat his skull in, alright? He may be durable, but he can only take so many hits. Everyone has their limits, even him. Now get in there, and win this round."

I stood as the coaches cleared the ring, trying to look as confident as the Italian across the mat from me. I was already drenched in sweat, and he had only a few beads going down his face and chest. I didn't understand; how was this guy so durable and so quick? How did that Cuban guy Hector Fernandez beat him? Lovino Vargas was so unorthodox, so unpredictable; how would I win this fight if everything I threw at him was absorbed and countered?

As the bell rung once again, the ref commenced the second round. Lovino was immediately on the move, pushing me around the ring with painful punches and kicks to the head and body.

"Don't move backwards, god dammit!" Tolvorn shouted, obviously frustrated with my performance. I shook my head slightly as if to clear it and stepped forwards towards my opponent. I quickly threw numerous inside punches, staying in very close to the "Italian Pitbull". We teed off, both hitting eachother one after another.

Within a few moments, I found myself utterly exhausted, and bleeding from the gashes that had been temporarily sealed in between rounds. Lovino, still looking energized and unhurt, continued to try to knock me out, throwing punch after punch at my head which I defended to the best of my ability.

I started focusing on my adversary's feet, trying to memorize the pattern he was going in. With my hands up defending my head, I memorized his movement- _forward, forward, left, forward, right, forward, forward, then back._

When he went back just a few inches that was my time to strike. I allowed him his first few bounces, but when he went backwards, despite my exhaustion and blurred vision, I launched an attack. I threw an overhand right, followed by a straight left. Both connected, which gave me hope. Lovino kept backing up to avoid my strikes, which gave me more chances to beat him down.

I kept doing that for the entire rest of the second round, chasing after him when he went backwards. When the bell rung, I stumbled over to my corner and sat in the chair, breathing hard. The medical personnel from before went back to sealing the cuts on my face while Tolvorn spoke once again.

"You've got him, kid. Stay on your toes, alright? You've got his movement down; just watch for his counter punches. You won that round for sure, so it's even. One to one. You have to knock him out to secure the win. We cannot let this go to the judge's scorecards. Look at me, kid." Tolvorn put his hand on my bloodied cheek and looked me in the eyes. "Take him out. You've got this, alright? Stay on your toes, and don't let him move you. Now get in there, and win this. You've got three minutes on the clock; I know you can win this. Who beat Matthew Williams by a knee to the head?"

"I did…"

"And who knocked out Nikodemos Antonov when no one believed he could?"

"I did…"

"Get in there and make your record 3-0, rookie."

I nodded and stood as the time to commence the fight arrived. The ref stood in the center and looked to both Lovino and I before starting the fight at the ring of the bell.

Lovino and I circled eachother for a few moments, looking straight into eachother's eyes. I had to win this; I couldn't disappoint my coach or anyone.

My arms ached and were bruised heavily from blocking punches. My legs were wobbly and weakened by exhaustion. My body was beaten into a purplish skin tone. My face was battered and bleeding. My eyes were both blurred by swelling. But none of that mattered. What did matter, was the man in front of me, and how I was going to win this fight.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion as I used his movement pattern against him, throwing punches at him when he went backwards just that tiny bit. I kept landing hits, but the Italian just wouldn't go down. But I still, with heavy breaths and no energy left to spend, went after him. Lovino countered every few moments, landing body shots that caused me to lose what breath I had in my lungs.

But finally, something changed. He stumbled; I must have connected a nice punch. Sudden adrenaline kicked in and I surged forward with more punches, wanting, _needing _that knock out. I didn't stop my onslaught of strikes until the referee stepped between us, shoving me away from the "Italian Pitbull".

Exhausted, I grinned and fell on my back, simply sticking to laying there for a moment with one arm raised. I had just won by Technical Knockout. TKO. Referee stoppage. I had won.

Tolvorn hurried over to me and hoisted me to my feet, grinning.

"I knew you could do it, kid! I knew it!" He said, hugging me tightly. I merely brought one arm up and lightly patted my coaches back; a real hug would have to wait until tomorrow. I was practically dead on my feet.

I went to the center of the ring where the ref grabbed my wrist. Lovino went on the opposite side of the ref, and the announcer began to speak.

"And now, declaring the winner by Technical Knockout at one minute two seconds into the third round, Mathias "The Rookie" Køhler!"

The ref raised my arm in the air, and I was shocked by the response of the crowd. They cheered loudly; I had never heard such a thing. And they were cheering for _me._

I grinned and wiped some blood from my eye before being escorted out of the octagon by my coach.

When we got to the locker room, he gave me a nice congratulations and a bear hug before allowing me to take a shower and get dressed.

When I exited the locker room with him, on my way to a post-fight conference, media crowded the small amount of space in the halls, snapping pictures and asking questions. Tolvorn answered a lot of the questions for me, which was a smart idea. I could hardly speak, I was so exhausted.

After the post-fight conference, which had been pretty short due to my lack of an ability to converse, Tolvorn and I headed back to the gym to wrap up the night. When I walked into the doors of the gym, I was greeted by Eduard, my ever so happy training partner.

"That, my friend, was an amazing fight." He said, giving me a tight hug. I chuckled slightly and managed to return the hug.

"Thanks… But now I have to wait a while for my face to heal. I thought I was going to lose that fight for sure when I realized how exhausted I was after the second round… But I ended up winning… Ahaha…"

"Man, you need to get home to rest. Can you see alright?"

"A bit blurry because of the swelling, but I should be fine."

"I don't want you taking any chances. Let me drive you home."

"Sounds fine by me."

"Take a week off, Mathias. You won't need to train for some time while the ranks get sorted out by different fighters' wins. We won't know who your opponent is until next week… So I'll see you then. Take it easy, and rest a lot. Don't be up and about too much, alright?" Tolvorn said.

"Gotcha coach… See you next week." I gave my coach a hug before turning to Eduard. "Let's go."

When I arrived at my apartment, I gave Eduard one last hug before getting out of his car and heading inside. Once in, I locked the door behind me, and went to my bedroom. I took off my shoes, flopped down on the bed, and then buried myself under the covers. I closed my eyes with a smile on my face.

3-0.

I was 3-0.

Three knockout victories over three formidable opponents.

The crowd had cheered for me.

Did I mention that I was 3-0?

Yeah, I was definitely kicking off my MMA career well.


	6. Reparation

**A/n: **Rather slow update this time. School is mainly the culprit. But thankfully, the first grading period is over and the workload will lighten up for a while. Back to writing for me.

Well, here's the 6th chapter of "Undefeated". Enjoy.

**Xxx**

Even after a few days of recovery, I still looked like hell.

My face was still bruised and was sensitive to the touch, though the swelling had gone down and my vision had returned to normal. My body was sorer than anything, yellowed by healing bruises. I could hardly apply any pressure to my ribs or lower torso. My arms, if anything, were healing the best out of the parts of my body that had been damaged. They were bruised still, but the soreness was easing away. My legs were also healing well. The things that I really noticed though, were the slight cauliflower ears I was developing. It was common in MMA fighters; they would get hit in the ears and the swelling would remain due to some medical thing I couldn't explain, causing the resemblance of a cauliflower.

I looked in the mirror in my room's bathroom and sighed, looking over my battered body. It was hard to look at; Lovino Vargas had really beaten me good. Though I had come out with the win in the end, it was an exhausting, painful one.

I blinked a few times then left the bathroom, acquiring some clothes from the two dressers I had in my room. I really liked this apartment; most MMA fighters preferred to have houses or at least something rather nice, but I preferred this one bedroom, two bathroom, rather small thing on the third floor of a ten-floor complex. It had all I needed; a small kitchen, which was normally never used, a living room, and a place to sleep.

Being an MMA fighter with training to do and places to go I normally wasn't in the apartment other than to sleep, even with my week off. I normally went out and hung around with Eduard during the day.

Once I was dressed in a pair of jeans, a WCFL t-shirt, and a pair of socks, I returned to the bathroom to freshen up a bit. I brushed my teeth and made sure my hair wasn't too much of a mess, before heading out towards the door of my apartment. I slipped on a pair of sneakers and grabbed my wallet off the kitchen table, then went out the door.

I went out into the hall of the complex and went towards the staircase; Tolvorn told me to always take the stairs. It was healthier and all that good stuff. As I descended down the stairs, I bumped shoulders with someone coming up. I glanced to them and immediately recognized them.

"Lovino?" I said. He stopped and looked to me, then quickly away.

"Listen here, Mathias… I underestimated you…." He paused then grumbled something in Italian, before continuing in English. "But consider this reparation for the amount of damage I did to you…" He shoved a small bundle in my hands then turned quickly and retreated down the stairs. I glanced down to my hands and discovered that Lovino had placed money in my hands; two bundles of fifty dollar bills. I shook my head a bit and hurried after the "Italian Pitbull".

"Hey, wait! Lovino!" I caught up with him and grabbed his shoulder, turning him to face me.

"I don't need any reparations from you, man. You can keep your money." I stated, placing the money back into his hands.

"_Stronzo_…" He grumbled. "Listen, Mathias. Word got around that you don't have any sponsors and are underpaid due to that… The rest of us have sponsors and get paid quite a bit. My father, Lodovico… This wasn't my decision; it's extra payment from him. He's put your name up for sponsors, but in the meantime he wanted me to give this to you… Just accept it, _idiota._"

I scratched the back of my head and sighed. "I still get paid a hell of a lot more than a lot of people… I don't need extra money, Vargas."

"Just take the money, damn it. I'm surprised a guy like you doesn't jump on the opportunity then ask for more."

"Wow. Did I put the wrong impression on you in the fight or something? I'm not like that at all."

"Then what are you like, _idiota_?"

"Why don't you hang with me for the day and find out what I'm like firsthand?"

"Hang out? With you? I don't know. You may be an annoying bastard like my brother."

"I don't think I'm annoying. And neither does anyone I've conversed with before. Come on, it'll be nice."

Lovino sighed. "Fine… It's better than being stuck with my idiotic brother."

"Alright, cool. I was just heading out to a café downtown to meet up with some friends. I'll introduce you. Hell, you might even know them."

He nodded a bit and the Italian and I descended down the stairs the rest of the way. Once outside, I looked to him.

"Did you drive here? I was planning on walking, but if you drove here then we could take your car." I said.

"I walked. I walk everywhere I go. It's better than driving, to me at least." He replied.

"Alright, cool. My coach Tolvorn always tells me to walk or jog to wherever I go. Says it'll build up cardio and stuff." I remarked as we began walking down the sidewalk towards downtown.

"Tolvorn? You mean Tolvorn Ryker?"

"Yeah, that's him. Why do you ask?"

"Oh man; he and my father had a big rivalry back when they were both in the WCFL as fighters."

"Really?"

"Si. My father was usually the victor, but Tolvorn came through a few times with the victory. By the end of their matches, there was blood all over the ring. There was only one fight where neither of them bled."

"Do tell."

"I think it was like their fifth or sixth fight against eachother… My father was the champion, and Tolvorn was the challenger. They were on the ground almost immediately, and Tolvorn went for a submission… Got the triangle choke locked in, won the championship within the first round. It was one of the three losses ever put on my father's record."

"Hah. That's awesome. So how did you get into MMA? Was it because of your father?"

"Partially. My brother, Feliciano, has always been the favorite… I got sick of being undermined by my own father, so I took up his sport fully. I trained for everything. I learned from people whom my father knew, but never directly from him… Even when I was 6-0, my father didn't pay too much attention to me. Now with a two loss streak, I'm lucky to even see him at dinnertime. It's ridiculous."

"I bet it is. But at least you get to see yours occasionally. My parents both live in Denmark. Busy businesspeople… I never socialized with them much. When I met Tolvorn when he was looking for MMA prospects in Denmark, I jumped on the chance to get away from home. I was in a dead-end job, with next to no belongings or reason to stay in Copenhagen. Tolvorn took me under his wing and trained me a bit in Copenhagen before pulling some strings with Lodovico and getting me a fight in the WCFL. Now look at me; I'm 3-0, happier than I was back in Denmark."

"So MMA fighting was never something you had planned out for a career?"

"Nope. I'd never been any sort of fight until I faced Matthew. I did a year of wrestling in high school, but never really got into it. Explains why I can't wrestle to save my life."

"So in the WCFL your ground game is kind of unconventional."

"Yeah. Though Tolvorn trains me heavily all around. One week it'll be BJJ, next it'll be wrestling, and then it'll be Judo, and then back to BJJ. You know what I mean? That's why I'm a generalist like you."

"Yeah. As you experienced in our fight, I'm a very technical standup fighter… My ground game isn't actually that great. That's how Hector Fernandez beat me. He got me to the ground and knocked me out cold with just a few hammer-fists in full mount."

"I looked at the size of your legs when we were in our corners during our fight. You could easily be a kickboxer with the strength you have in those things."

"I prefer to just stick with calling myself a generalist. I don't know if I can get my leg up high enough to kick a lot of you guys in the head. You're probably the third tallest guy in the WCFL right now. Six feet, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then the only two guys taller than you are Oxenstierna and Braginski."

"How tall are they? I mean, I know Oxenstierna's taller than me, but I've never seen Braginski before."

"Oxenstierna is six foot five, I think. And then Braginski is six three."

"Those heights have got to add up to some serious advantages."

"That's what Oxenstierna uses all the time. That and his weight. He used to a bodybuilder, so he's got a whole hell of a lot of muscle. The guy weighs around two-hundred twenty pounds, and he's hardly got any fat on him. It's all raw muscle."

"Wow. How long was Oxenstierna a bodybuilder?"

"I'm not too sure. You'd have to ask him if you ever get the chance."

"You know, I got a good question. Why is there only one weight division in the WCFL?"

"My father always gets asked that. He always tells the media that it's because he doesn't like to split up such good fighters. I mean, in leagues where there's five or six divisions there's guys who move around in the weight classes too much. Light Heavyweights go up and down to Heavyweight and Middleweight; Middleweights go up and down to Light Heavyweight and Welterweight, and so on. My father just doesn't want to deal with switching fighters constantly. It's easier this way."

"But what about unfair advantages?"

"He says if you're a good fighter, you can fight anyone. Just look at Alexianos Kirzigian. He's fought thirty-nine times against various fighters ranging in height and weight. He's five feet seven inches tall, and easily punches the lights out of Oxenstierna, a guy who's a whole ten inches taller than him."

"Point taken. That Kirzigian must have good reach."

"The guy isn't a boxer for nothing. He's got all the assets. Long arms, brutalizing upper-body strength, with strong legs to back it up. I've watched a lot of the "One Man Army" fights. It's… kind of painful to watch, actually. I watched him cut Jones wide open in their last fight."

"What was the damage?"

"Those hands busted four big gashes in Jones' face. Both eyebrows were bloody messes, one eye had a cut just under it that was bleeding like a stuck pig, and there was one on the opposite cheek that was major, but minor compare to the other ones."

"Damn? Did the ref stop the fight at all for the doctors to check on him?"

"No. Jones is one hell of a durable guy. Everyone knows that he can take pain like that."

"But isn't that a safety hazard if the cuts get too bad?"

"The regulations in the WCFL are easy to misunderstand. Cuts on the face won't stop a fight unless you can see the guy's skull. Any other doctor stoppage is because of an injury like a dislocation, fracture, or break in bones, severe cuts that occur on places not common in MMA like the body, arms, or legs, or severe bleeding in the mouth that could cause ingestion of too much blood."

"So I got myself signed into one of the bloodiest most painful leagues in the world."

"Si. Basically."

"Well, I'll be damned. I better learn to defend myself well around the cage then."

"That would help. But you have a lot of endurance on you. Normally people would have been permanently crippled after three rounds with me."

"I'm really surprised I didn't have a heart attack and die in that ring. I was so exhausted; you have no clue how much you wore me down. You didn't even need to do the body shots you were doing to me, because I could hardly breathe. Or see, for that matter. I just wailed on you enough to get you knocked out. How the hell did that even happen anyways?"

"Your strikes became more unpredictable in your exhaustion. I couldn't counter all that much and you nailed me good right on the chin. Then you just kept hitting me and before I knew it, I was completely out. You're a good fighter; not such a technical one, but a very hard to demoralize one."

"That's credit to me being trained by such a cheerful coach and working with such outgoing training partners."

"Wish I had that kind of support behind my back. But no; all I have is people with serious looks who point out every little mistake and never praise me for what I do. I went six wins before my first loss, and they had never praised me for any of those six knockouts."

"Damn, dude. You know what we should do?"

"What?"

"You should join up with my coach and training partner. I don't have anyone who's a good striker to train with. My current training partner is a ground game specialist, so I've been doing striking with Tolvorn. But let's face it; "The Protagonist" is getting up there in years. He isn't quite as good as he used to be."

"I don't know, Mathias. I mean, it's a great offer, but…"

"But what? Come on, Lovino. We'll train together. I'll introduce you to my training partner up here at the café, and you can get to know him. We can work together to prepare for our fights; you can do what you need to do, and I can do what I need to do. It'll be great."

"… Alright… I'll… I'll tell my coaches later."

"Awesome! Shake on it, pitbull?" I extended my hand to the Italian with a grin. He smiled lightly and clasped my hand with his own, accepting the deal.

"Thanks, Mathias… I'm looking forward to working with you…"

"Great. And here's the café." I said as we walked into the parking lot of the café. Eduard's car was there, along with Tino's jeep, and a motorcycle that I didn't know whom it belonged to.

We entered the building, and I was greeted by Eduard, Tino, and Matthew Williams sitting at a table. There were two open chairs, just enough for Lovino and I.

"Hey, hey. How's it going guys?" I said as I approached the table.

"Great. You're looking a lot better than when I last saw you." Tino replied as I sat down. I glanced to Lovino as he quietly took the empty seat next to me.

"So I got to talking with Lovino here, and guess what?"

"What?" Eduard asked.

"He's becoming a new asset in our little training group. Eduard, now you don't have to worry any about learning striking to train with me. Lovino's going to be doing that, replacing Tolvorn as a striking trainer."

"Cool. It's nice of you to join us, Lovino. I'm Eduard Von Bock. Wrestling, Judo, and BJJ practitioner from Estonia." Eduard offered his hand to shake across the table to our new Italian friend.

"It's nice to meet you, Eduard. You probably already know plenty about me if you pay attention to the WCFL." Lovino replied, gripping the hand of the Estonian.

"Yep. I know just about everything there is to know about everyone sitting at this table right now. But don't worry, I'm not stalking anyone. I just have some kind of WCFL database for a brain."

"You don't say? What do you know about me?"

"You're official record is 6-2, six wins by knockout, two losses by knockout. You're from Italy, you have a twin brother named Feliciano, and you're a Generalist… I can go on and on. Even into details of your fights."

"What about my fight with Hector Fernandez? How did he knock me out?"

"Full mount, left hammer fist. Just over two minutes into the first round."

"How did I knock out Williams here?" Lovino motioned to the silent Canadian sitting next to Tino.

"Right overhand punch."

"What round?"

"Second."

"Time?"

"One minute, six seconds."

"What about my fight against Gilbert Beilschmidt? How'd I knock him out?"

"Right uppercut."

"Round?"

"First."

"Time?"

"Two fifty-eight."

"Alright, you're smart."

"Why thank you."

We all busted out into laughter at the seriousness that had enveloped the little information challenge that Eduard and Lovino had gotten into.

"What in the name of everything holy was that?" I questioned, still laughing.

"Who knows, Mathias." Tino said, chuckling.

Once the laughter died down, we went on to have some rather interesting conversations, ranging from WCFL rules and regulations, to what we wore to sleep. Lovino, despite his originally unhappy demeanor and spitefulness, was actually a nice guy once you got him to open up. Actually kind of cheerful.

"So, Tino, I question why you're the youngest out of us, and yet you're the only one married. How long ago did you marry Alexianos? Scratch that, how the hell did you manage to even get with a guy like him? I may know stuff about you, but we've never gone in depth about how you and Alexianos met." I questioned.

"Ah… Well, two years back I was working late here at this café, and in walked the "One Man Army" with a horde of media after him. Apparently he had just beat Novkovic in a brutal fight, and just wanted something to drink before he went home. So he came in, and I had to force the media to stay outside since no one is allowed to have video cameras or large handheld cameras in here. I shut the door and closed the blinds before getting Alex the drink he wanted… There was no one around since it was late, so it was just he and I in this café. We got to talking, and within the hour he stayed, we connected so well. He kept coming back every day, and soon enough he asked me out… Things kicked off, and within two months we were married. He and I just… There's no one I'd rather be with. He may seem so scary in that cage, but he's just such a sweetheart. I love that man to death."

"Two months of being together and you guys got married? That's unheard of." Eduard commented.

"But it's true. And I couldn't be happier. Alexianos pulled me out of a depression I had built up over the years… He's made me the happiest man around."

"Do you ever worry about him when he's fighting?"

"Oh, all the time. Every fight he's in, I'm there at ringside biting my nails and hoping he doesn't get himself hurt. I've seen so many gruesome things in that cage; I sometimes wonder how anyone makes it out alive."

"Well, that's the risk of being a fighter in the WCFL. Just look how many injuries there has been in the past few years. I mean, just last event, Novkovic dislocated his elbow during a takedown from Oxenstierna."

"Brutality is a way of life for us fighters." Lovino stated. "It's kill or be killed in that cage, and all of us would rather be the one doing the killing than being the one killed."


	7. Convenience

At the end of my week-long break, I met up with my coach at the WCFL offices to sign my next fight contract and learn who I was going to be fighting next.

I entered the heavy wood door of a large office, followed by Tolvorn. I had been in this office before; it was Lodovico Vargas' office, where he did all his paperwork, and where fighters like me signed our fight contracts.

Lodovico, the cheerful middle-aged man whom ran the WCFL, leaned back in his leather chair with a grin and looked to me.

"It's great to see you again, Mathias. You ready to learn who you'll be fighting next?" He asked as I sat down in one of the four chairs in front of his large desk.

"Ready as ever." I responded. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper, placing it in front of me.

"You know the drill." He said, setting a pen on top of the paper. I grabbed the pen, not bothering to read the contract in front of me. It was no different from my other ones. I signed my name on one of the five dotted lines, and then slid the paper over to my coach, who had taken a seat next to me.

He scanned over the contract for a moment before signing on the line under my name. He set the pen down and chewed on his lip in anticipation for the arrival for the other fighter and his coach.

As the wood door opened behind my coach and I, a light chuckle was heard. It was eerie and made me kind of afraid to turn my head around to see who had made the sound. Thankfully, my opponent and his coach didn't take long in taking their seats in front of Lodovico's desk.

I didn't recognize the fighter or the coach, but I could tell which one the fighter was due to the scarred face and heavily cauliflowered ears. The guy had blonde hair, and violet eyes, along with a slightly creepy smile. This guy just gave off an aura of "I'm going to go do violence to little children". Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but you get my point. The guy was scary.

"It's good to see you, Braginski. Sign the contract, meet your opponent, you know the drill." Lodovico said, sliding the contract over to the guy who I now recognized the name of. It was Ivan Braginski, the guy who had to give up a title shot due to an injury, and was on a losing streak for a while. I had seen his fights before online, but he looked so much more different in person than he did on camera. Not to mention, he was dressed casually.

Ivan took the pen in his hand and signed the contract without reading it, then slid it over to his coach, who signed it as well. Lodovico then took the contract, and signed on the fifth and final dotted line, before placing the contract in a file and shoving it into a drawer in his desk.

"Alright. Contract is signed. Shake hands if you'd like, then see yourselves out of my office. I have a phone call to make." He said.

Tolvorn and I stood, along with the other two. Braginski was the first fighter I would face whom would have a height advantage over me.

I reached out to shake hands with the Russian, whose hand found its way to mine and clutched it tightly. He pulled me forward to whisper in my ear words that would be engraved in my mind for weeks to come.

"I do not like seeing your name above mine on the roster, Køhler. I will not make this fight easy for you in any way, shape, or form. I suggest you train your medical team more than you train yourself, because in six weeks I am going to break you down to nothing." His voice was hardly perceptible, but I caught every word just fine. The coaches didn't hear it though.

Ivan let go of my hand and made his exit with his coach. I stood there for a moment, petrified. In my mind, I assumed he was just trying to intimidate me, but he had seriously sounded like he wanted to kill me.

"Come on, Mathias. Let's get over to the gym so we can start training." Tolvorn's voice snapped me out of my frozenness and forced me to move my legs to get me out of the room.

Once the door was shut behind us, he placed a hand on my back as we walked towards the exit of the building.

"You looked scared shitless when you were just standing there. What did he say to you?" He questioned.

"Said he doesn't like seeing my name above his on the roster, that he isn't going to make this an easy fight for me, and that I should train the medical team more than myself because when we fight eachother he's going to break me down to nothing." I replied.

"Don't let that get to your head, kid. He's just trying to freak you out. Just remember, the guy is out of his prime. He hasn't been able to fight like he has ever since he had to drop his title shot."

"Can I ask what his official record is?"

"23-11."

"Who did he win his most recent fight against?"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, I think."

"… Braginski is a boxer, right?"

"Yep."

"That means I can win the fight from the ground."

"Yes, you can. See, kid? You already know how to beat him! I didn't even have to tell you anything." Tolvorn patted my back as we exited the building, heading across the street to the World Class Gym.

"Well, I know from general knowledge that strikers don't like to be on the ground… So it's just common sense to assume that Braginski won't be all that great on his back. Not that I'm saying he's horrible; you never know exactly how they'll contort themselves on the ground… But you get what I mean."

"You're wise beyond your experience, rookie." He said as we entered the gym. We were greeted by a few fighters, who had probably just signed their contracts recently as well. Matthew approached me with a smile.

"Who're you fighting?" He asked.

"Braginski." I replied. My Canadian friend's smile immediately dissipated.

"Oh man, you better train hard. Braginski is one hell of a fighter."

"So I've seen. But he's lost his flare, from what I know. Not the same guy he was when he got his title shot."

"True, but he's still dangerous. I'll give you a pointer though; his cardio is lacking. You can easily wear him out with grappling."

"How do you know this?"

"I…" He paused for a second. "Just watch a lot of his fights. I've noticed some things about him, you know?" I had a feeling that "The Quiet Guy" was lying, but disregarded it. I had to focus; just because Braginski was out of his prime did not mean that he couldn't win this fight and put my first loss on my record.

"Yeah. Hey, have you seen Eduard around?" I questioned Matthew.

"Oui. He's in the gym practicing a bit with Lovino." He replied.

"Alright, thanks. Say, if we have time later, you want to spar a bit?"

"Sure. I have to do my own training today since my coach is out of town, so I'll be happy to spar with you."

"Great. I'll talk to you later. Better get to training before Tolvorn here decides to drag me out there by the ear." I chuckled a bit and headed toward the main area of the gym with my coach.

Like Matthew had said, Lovino and Eduard were practicing in the training ring. Lovino was in Eduard's guard, attempting to transition into half guard.

"Alright you two, that's enough for now. Mathias has got work to do to prepare for fighting "Heartless" Braginski." Tolvorn interrupted them. Eduard unwrapped his legs from around Lovino's midsection, allowing the Italian to stand and hop out of the ring. Eduard himself soon followed.

"Oh damn. Braginski? You better pray to every deity above that he doesn't cut your face up too bad. Seven of his wins are from doctor stoppage." Eduard informed.

"And you remember what I said about doctor stoppage in the WCFL, correct?" Lovino added.

"How could I not remember that?" I stated.

"Alright, we get it. Braginski is dangerous. That's why we train." Tolvorn said. "Now we know this guy is a dangerous boxer, and that he's got weak ground game. We're going to work on blocking and parrying punches. Once we're done with that, we're going to move on to the ground and work on takedowns, transitions, and striking from the top. Once we're done with that, you can do some sparring then have the rest of the day to yourself. Alright?"

"Sounds good." I replied.

"Get yourself into the proper attire then meet me back out here. Your stuff is in the locker room."

I nodded and headed off to the locker room. I pushed open the heavy wood door and made my way to my locker, bumping shoulders with someone who was heading out of the locker room. I turned to them and smiled a bit.

"Hey Berwald." I greeted.

"Hej. Y' get your next contract?" The tall Swede asked, stopping and looking to me.

"Yeah. I'm fighting Braginski."

"Train hard. That's all I have t' say."

"That's what I plan on doing." I said as I went over to my locker and opened it. Berwald leaned against the wall, obviously sticking around for a conversation.

"So you have six weeks until you fight Kirzigian, huh? That's got to be nerve-racking." I commented as I removed my shoes then retrieved my red shorts from my locker.

"Yeah… Fourth rematch… I'm hoping t' beat him this time, but I'm not sure if I can. He's knocked me out three times… Maybe th' fourth time will b' different." He responded. I slipped off my shirt and tossed in my locker before replying.

"Maybe. You never know, Berwald. I've seen the way you fight; it's scary as hell. Whatever happened to that training partner of yours?" I asked. He began to explain as I removed my jeans.

"I fractured three vertebrae in his spine. Don't think he's ever going t' be able t' use his arms again… Paralyzed him. C6, C7, and T1 vertebra were th' ones that got damaged… I feel bad, sure… But h' signed th' agreement stating that h' knew th' dangers of training with m'. Paid his medical bills in advance s' that h' wouldn't get stuck with thousands of dollars of debt. Sometimes I wonder if I try t' hard when I train..."

"There's no such thing as trying too hard when you train." I said as I finished getting dressed, grabbing my mouth guard. "It's all a part of fighting, you know? If you don't put in effort when you train, how're you supposed to put in effort when your actual fight comes along?"

"You're wiser than I expected, Mathias." He responded as we both walked out of the locker room. "Y' better get t' training. Braginski is a tough fighter."

"Yeah. You work hard too, Berwald. I'll be watching your match with Kirzigian in six weeks for sure." With that, we went our separate ways.

I joined my little team over at the side of one of the two rings and was handed a pair of gloves by Eduard. I muttered a thanks to him and slipped the gloves on. I then slipped my mouth guard into my mouth. I hopped in the ring, followed by Lovino.

"Alright, you know the drill you two. Lovino, throw punches; not so many that you'd knock Mathias out, but still give him enough of a challenge so that he can get the hang of blocking and parrying." Tolvorn said, standing on the edge of the ring outside the ropes.

Lovino and I got into fighting positions, Lovino taking a more casual boxing stance, myself taking a similar stance, though with slightly more weight on my back leg.

"Alright, go ahead and start." Tolvorn said.

Lovino threw a punch with his leading right hand, and I brought my arms in front of my face to block. The punch was ineffective, but his next one caught me off guard. He brought his left arm around for a hook and placed a punch on my jaw that went behind my arms.

"Don't hold your block up for too long, Mathias. When he comes around for that hook, bring your arm up and cover that side of your head." Tolvorn coached.

Lovino went for a few quick jabs, which I pushed to the side by parrying. He moved forward and caught me off guard yet again, but this time with a hard uppercut. I was dizzied from the shot and stumbled backwards, falling onto my back. My vision had gone slightly burry, and my body had become a bit limp. That was a less than a knockout punch, but it was pretty close. If that had happened during an official fight, Lovino would have rushed in and mercilessly beat my head in while I was rocked, causing the ref to stop the fight and declare him the victor by TKO.

"Stop, Lovino." Tolvorn said, getting into the ring and walking over to me.

"You alright kid?" He asked, crouching down. He reached inside my mouth and pulled my mouth guard out, allowing me to talk without my words sounding too garbled.

"… Yeah… He got me good…" I muttered.

"Stay down for a minute or two. Breathe. Can you see okay?"

"A bit blurry…."

"That'll wear off in a minute or so. He nearly knocked you out."

"… Yeah…"

So I laid there for a moment, breathing steadily and waiting for my vision to return to normal, and for full function to return to my limbs. While waiting, a familiar voice piped up from outside the ring, where Tolvorn now was.

"He alright?" It was Alexianos Kirzigian.

"Yeah. Just took a hard chin shot from Lovino. He'll be up in a few minutes." Tolvorn replied. I soon found myself joined in the ring by Alexianos. He crouched down next to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"It happens to the best of us, rookie. Here, let me replace Lovino for a little while. I'll teach you how to block shots like that correctly. Can you stand?" He asked. I nodded a bit and Alexianos stood then offered his ungloved hand to me. I clasped it and hoisted myself to my feet.

Tolvorn tossed me my mouth guard and I slipped it back into place, and then looked to Kirzigian.

"Alright Mathias. That uppercut rocked you pretty bad. That would have resulted in a loss if it were official. When someone comes at you like that, you want to put your arms together and bring them down to where your hands are in front of your chin. Almost like you're going to defend a shot to the body. Try it." He instructed, doing a slow punch. I followed his advisement and attempted the block. His punch went upwards, grazing off the back of my hands.

"Good. Just like that. A bit faster now." He aimed another uppercut at me, quicker than he had before. I successfully blocked once again, and he nodded in approval.

"You can also parry uppercuts rather easily. What you do is you bring one arm forward slightly more than the other when you block, depending on which arm your opponent is punching with, and turn your shoulders. Watch." He motioned to Lovino to step in front of him.

"Try an uppercut. Slow at first so he can see how it works." He told the Italian. Lovino went for an uppercut slowly, and Alexianos went through the parry just as slow.

"See how that works? Their hand and wrist get caught in the space between your two arms, and is pushed to the side." He and Lovino demonstrated slowly once again. I nodded in understanding.

"Alright, now go full force, Lovino." Alexianos got into a casual boxing stance, relaxed and ready to do the parry. He nodded to Lovino, who unleashed a fast and hard uppercut, which was so easily deflected by the undefeated champion. Alexianos even went as far as countering and tapping the unguarded face of Lovino with and open hand.

"Once you've parried, it leaves their face open to strike, as goes for most any parry." He said. "Go ahead. Try a few uppercut parries. Then go back to working with your coach. I'm sure he'll want you back sometime soon." He chuckled.

Lovino turned to me and I put my fists up. Our first few tries at the parry were a tad off, but Alexianos corrected us and soon we were working pretty quickly.

"Looks great, Mathias. Just remember to counter after you parry." He said before turning to my coach. "Sorry about stealing these two from you. They're all yours now."

"Oh, don't worry. I have all day to work with these guys. I'm glad you came around and helped out." Tolvorn replied as the Armenian champion got out of the ring.

"I'm glad to help out. I'll see you around, Tolvorn. I've got to go work on my cardio; jog around town, you know the deal."

"Yeah. See you around."

The champion exited the area, and I went back to training with Lovino on striking defense. We moved on to countering soon after that, and then were given a small break before I started on ground training with Eduard.

Sweaty and breathing a bit hard, I took a seat on the bench I always did, with Lovino on one side and Eduard on the other.

"I think Kirzigian's really taken an interest in you. He usually doesn't hang around the gym to help. He's normally so busy with his own training that he can't stop to help anyone. This was rare of him to do." Eduard commented.

"I bet… Man, I can't wait to see the Kirzigian-Oxenstierna fight in six weeks… Main event, championship on the line. I don't know if I can support either of them fully. They're both such amazing fighters." I said.

"Yeah… But just remember that Oxenstierna's lost three times to Kirzigian. He's lucky that a fourth rematch was signed." Lovino responded.

"I'd have to give the edge to Kirzigian though. Unless Oxenstierna can get him to the ground, Kirzigian is going to dominate the fight. If it's taken to the ground, then Oxenstierna has a huge advantage. Both of them, I agree, are incredible fighters, but Kirzigian just has an advantage with his striking. Not to mention, he's undefeated. If he goes 40-0, he'll be deemed the most unstoppable fighter in the history of all leagues I've ever heard of." Eduard expressed.

"He's already the most unstoppable fighter anyone's ever heard of. I mean, seriously. Who have you ever heard of that goes thirty nine wins without a single loss on his record? No one. Not even any of the guys who started this league up had that kind of a record."

"True… I think the longest undefeated streak in the WCFL prior to Kirzigian belongs to "The Veteran" Sadik Adnan. He went 16-0 before he lost to Andelko Begovich."

"You know, I've got a question. Is Adnan the oldest guy in the league right now?"

"Yes, he is. He's forty two. Has a record of 56-15. He's been holding up a pretty decent record ever since he joined back when he was twenty. I'm surprised he's never been champion before. It seems that every time he gets a title shot, he always gets beat. He was like Oxenstierna for a while, solidified in 2nd place unable to be beaten by anyone other than the champion. Nowadays he's ranked fourth in the official roster."

"Do you know the rankings in order? I know a few of course, but I've always been curious to who is where."

"Well, Kirzigian is obviously first. Then Oxenstierna, and then Jones… Then there's Adnan, Novkovic, and Ludwig Beilschmidt. After that there's Begovich, Alex Johansson, Lorinatus, and Fernandez… Then Joachim Johansson, you, Braginski, Gilbert Beilschmidt, Antonov, and finally Williams. I'm surprised that I've memorized that." Eduard said with a slight chuckle.

"How did Begovich end up in the high-middle ranks? He's "The Southern Slavic Legend". Shouldn't he be up there with Adnan and Jones?" I questioned.

"Well, like I've said before, his good record is fading. I'm thinking that he's going to retire soon. It's been speculated that Begovich and Adnan are going to retire soon due to their ages and legend status in the WCFL. They've both reached their peaks; though Adnan is holding at his a lot steadier than Begovich. Hell, Begovich is out of his prime now. "The Southern Slavic Legend" may not last much longer. As for Adnan? I'm not too sure. Every time he's asked about his retirement he just shifts the topic over to something else. It's almost like he doesn't want to leave the league."

"Well, it's understandable. After he's been here for such a long time, fighting is all he knows."

"He could always be a coach. Start his own training gym or something."

"True."

"Alright guys. Enough chit-chat. Let's get back to work." Tolvorn interrupted. He sure had a thing for interrupting conversations, didn't he?

"Mathias, I need you in the ring with Eduard. Work on takedowns and transitions. Start from standard fighting positions. I'll give you two minutes to get to full mount. Light striking to the body will be allowed. That okay, Eduard?" He asked. Eduard nodded.

"Alright. Get in there. Lovino, here's a stopwatch. Time them." Tolvorn tossed the Italian that same red stopwatch that he'd used numerous times before and Eduard and I headed into the ring.

When we were given the signal to start, I immediately went for a single leg takedown, which Eduard avoided with a sprawl. He stood back up and backed away a bit as I got back to my feet as well.

I got in the clinch quickly, knowing the clock was running. I had both my arms wrapped around his midsection, in the perfect position to take him down. I used as much strength as I could muster to lift Eduard off his feet and slam him down on the ground, successfully taking him down.

I quickly transitioned to side mount, and then to the mount, but Eduard had my head held tightly down to his chest, preventing me from achieving full mount. I struck his body with a few punches, which wore him down enough to make him lose his grip on me and allow me to get the full mount.

"Alright, good. You beat the timer." Tolvorn said. "A minute twenty seconds was your time. Let's reset, and try again. Try to beat your time."

We trained for quite some time before I was allowed to go off on my own. Matthew and I ended up sparring a bit, but we had both exhausted ourselves during training prior to the sparring, so we really just messed around.

On my way out of the doors of the gym once I had changed and said goodbye to my coach, Lovino, Ed, and Matthew, I spotted a certain intense Swede sitting out on the hood of his truck. He looked to me and motioned for me to come over, so I did. I meandered over to the wrestler and smiled a bit at him.

"What's up, Berwald?" I asked.

"Not much. Just wanted t' talk t' y' about something." He replied.

"And that something would be?"

"I heard from a certain Estonian birdie that y' have a little infatuation for m'."

I felt my cheeks heat up, and I glanced away, scratching the back of my head.

"Well, that certain Estonian birdie doesn't lie…" I muttered. I heard a slight chuckle come from to deep-voiced man.

"S' y' d' like m'."

"Yeah… I just kind of… I don't know. Man, I'm really sorry that you found out. I mean, I bet you're not even gay. I should really think before I find an attraction in someone like you…"

Another chuckle interrupted my slur of idiocy.

"What's so funny…?" I asked.

"Y' know, not many people ever manage t' get past m' intensity and actually see something they like in m'. T' b' honest, Mathias, I'm gay too. There's n' need t' b' ashamed."

"But don't you have a boyfriend or something? I mean…"

"Nope. Haven't had one in a long time. I'd be happy t' g' on a date with y', rookie. You're a nice guy, and don't seem too intimidated by m'. We'd have t' keep all this in secret though. God knows what th' media would d' t' twist th' situation."

"Wait, so you're saying you'll go out with me? Of all people?"

"Ja."

I stood there, dumbfounded. Had that really just happened? Had Oxenstierna really been the one to make the first move?

"Since w' both don't have too much t' d' after training, why don't we g' out… Friday? Three days from now. After training we'll g' out t' eat or something."

"Sounds good, Berwald… I'll see you then." I said with a smile. His lips curved into a slight smile, a feature I knew was rarely seen on the face of the intense man.

"See y' on Friday, Mathias. Remember, don't tell anyone."

"I won't." And with that, I headed off towards my apartment.

When I was lying in bed later that night, staring up at the ceiling like I always did, I couldn't help but run through that entire conversation Berwald and I had gone through.

So "The Beast" had made the first move, huh?

How convenient.


	8. Heartless Braginski

**A/n: **I had to rewrite this entire chapter due to the breaking of my flashdrive. I found it hard to motivate myself to start writing this chapter all over again, but after some MMA training done by yours truly; I got back into the mood of writing "Undefeated". I just worked off my frustration by busting my knuckles open on a punching bag for an hour.

Now, here's the 8th chapter.

**Xxx**

The days passed agonizingly slow. With Berwald on my mind, I found it hard to focus on my training to fight Braginski. Tolvorn, as my coach, was always there to smack me in the face to get me to pay attention.

I had taken the time to watch one of Braginski's fights online on one of the computers at the gym, and was slightly disturbed by what I saw. It was his most recent fight; the one against Gilbert Beilschmidt.

The round had started off kind of slow. Braginski towered over his opponent in a boxing stance, using his larger size as a form of intimidation. Beilschmidt didn't seem too fazed by his opponent, and went for the first strike, throwing a leg kick, which was absorbed easily by the Russian in front of him.

Braginski moved forward with an overhand punch, which connected solidly to the left side of his German opponent's face. Beilschmidt stumbled, but didn't fall. He swiped a hand over his eyebrow, realizing the cut that had formed by just a single punch from his adversary. Braginski, though you could hardly tell, was smirking.

The Russian threw a straight punch, connecting his fist with the cut on the eyebrow of his foe. I could see Braginski's intentions were to keep Beilschmidt bleeding. Beilschmidt, angered by the Russian man's two punches that had caused the cut, went for a double-leg takedown. Gilbert Beilschmidt was wrestler, and was able to get Braginski down to the ground without too much effort.

Braginski's expression hardly changed as he found himself on the ground though. Beilschmidt passed into full mount and started to throw many fists at the Russian's head, but Braginski merely took the punches and shifted his weight, rolling over so that now he was on top.

Braginski, obviously having the weight advantage over Beilschmidt, used it and got into side mount quickly. From side mount, he busted Beilschmidt wide open with numerous elbows to the face. After two minutes of brutality from side mount, Braginski transitioned to full mount, looking to be out of breath. He, despite visible exhaustion, continued to land elbow after elbow on the face of his German opponent, who struggled to defend himself.

After a final minute, the round ended. Braginski, with a somewhat scary smirk, stood and went over to his corner. Beilschmidt, after a few moments on the ground, rolled over and soon stood, heading over to the opposite corner.

The camera focused on Braginski for a few moments. The Russian man, though he was breathing somewhat hard, had a satisfied, somewhat sickening smirk on his face. His elbows and hands were smeared with the blood of Gilbert Beilschmidt, and that's the way he wanted it.

The camera, after a few moments, shifted over to Beilschmidt, who was being checked out by medical staff. They struggled to find the cuts under the mass of blood on Beilschmidt's bruised face. With a rag, they attempted to wipe away the blood and find the cuts, which they discovered were numerous. There was one on his forehead that stretched from his hairline down to just above his eyebrow, where it nearly joined a very bloody cut on the said eyebrow. A third cut was discovered under the eyelid of the German, along with a fourth on the side of the bridge of Beilschmidt's nose. One of the doctors spread the cut of Beilschmidt's forehead with his fingers, checking for any view of the German's skull. He did the same for the other three, before walking over to the referee.

The ref gave the signal to stop the fight, and the final bell was rung, signaling the end of the fight by doctor stoppage. Braginski stood at the center of the ring with the ref while Beilschmidt attempted to argue, saying that the cuts weren't that bad and that he could still fight. The announcer, before things could get too out of hands, began to speak.

"_And now, declaring the winner by doctor stoppage in between the first and second rounds, Ivan "Heartless" Braginski!"_

I sat there in the chair slightly horrified by the smirk on Braginski's face. He enjoyed doctor stoppage wins. He enjoyed the blood.

"What're you watching?" Matthew William's voice piped up from behind me, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin.

"Jesus, Matt… Don't do that again." I said, turning to the Canadian.

"Sorry if I startled you." He stated.

"It's alright… I just finished watching Braginski versus Beilschmidt… Now I think I may be scared for my life when I enter the octagon with Braginski." I responded, turning to look at Matt. He chuckled a bit.

"Just remember, Ivan is lacking in cardio. He may try to use his size against you, but watch." Matthew took over the computer for a moment and searched up a video, clicking on one and bringing it to my attention.

"This is one of Ivan's fights prior to his injury. Just watch it." He hit play and I focused on the video.

It was Braginski versus Jones, which I found very intriguing. I had never seen one of Alfred Jones' fights.

The introductions went by, and soon the two fighters were simply waiting for the bell. Upon the bell ringing, Jones ran forward then jumped with a knee out, connecting with a heavy Muay Thai knee to Braginski's face. Braginski stumbled back slightly, and Jones went on the attack, getting in the clinch with the Russian. They grappled for what seemed like forever, before separating. Jones, the more lissome and swift of the two, wasn't even breathing out of his mouth yet. Braginski was dripping with sweat and was breathing somewhat hard. Grappling easily wore the Russian down, from what I understood.

Jones bounced on his feet, guard low, exposing his face to easily be punched. Braginski went for a straight jab, which Jones leaned backwards away from. The Russian of the two moved forward with a ducking overhand punch, which was parried by the American opponent all too easily.

While Braginski was off balance from the parry, Jones raised his arms up in a gesture for the crowd to cheer. Once the crowd was riled up, he unleashed a wicked head kick that nailed Braginski right in the jaw.

The Russian fell to the ground, but was not out. Jones jumped on top of him, not hesitating one bit to pummel the larger man. Braginski was able to use his weight against Jones and flip him over, but Jones had grabbed his arm and had set up for an armbar.

After a few moments, Alfred brought his left leg up and placed it over Braginski's neck, and placed his other on the Russian's chest. He pulled Braginski's arm until the boxer fell on his back, then tightly locked in the armbar. Braginski had no choice but to tap.

I looked to Matt. "So… What was the point of you showing me this?" I questioned as the video ended.

"You see how much more lithe my step-brother is compared to Ivan?" He replied.

"Yeah. But what's that have to do with anything?"

"It just proves that someone like you can easily beat Ivan by grappling and eventually forcing a submission."

"I'll have to work on submissions… I'm not all that good with them."

"I'm sure Eduard knows plenty of submissions."

"Yeah… Say; I've got a question for you, Matt."

"What?"

"Why do you refer to Braginski by his first name? Do you know him or something? You told me before that you've watched a few of his fights, but I think there's something more than that."

"Well… I do know him… We've talked before; just around here at the gym. I would call us friends, I suppose…"

I chuckled and shook my head. "You're a horrible liar, Matt. Come on, what's the truth?"

He sighed and sat in the chair next to me. "Promise you won't tell anyone…?"

"Promise."

"How do I know I have your word?"

"Do I look like I would lie about something like this?"

"Point taken…" He paused. "Well… Ivan and I are dating… We're pretty close, to be honest… He really isn't as scary as he seems. He just puts that mask on when he's trying to intimidate his opponent… He's built his reputation in the WCFL off that smirk of his."

"Aww… How cute. Now I know that Braginski isn't so "Heartless" after all." I commented. He blushed and covered his face with his hands, letting out a stressed sigh.

"Do you have any clue how hard it is to hide a relationship with another fighter…? It's so nerve-racking, you have no idea."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just to come out and say it, instead of hiding it? I mean, it's not like you'll have to fight Braginski."

"You know how ridiculed gay men are… And for a male MMA fighter to come out; it's just… People would call it wrong on so many levels, you know? The way we grapple on the ground and such… People don't think we have any self-control. But we do. My heart belongs to that of Ivan right now, and only Ivan."

I nodded in understanding. "I know what you mean… I'm gay as well, as you've learned by hanging out at the café with me, Ed, Lovi, and Tino. But just look at it this way; the undefeated champion of this league is homosexual, and he isn't hiding it in the least."

"But Kirzigian didn't admit his homosexuality until he became champion. That way if someone had anything against him being gay, they wouldn't be able to say that he sucked at what he did because of that fact."

"There's always going to be criticism out there against guys like us, no matter who the hell we are. I could go up in the ranks and beat Kirzigian, and people would still talk shit about me being gay. That is, if I told the media about it."

"I don't know if I could stand the stress of the media hounding me or Ivan for being gay… I'm stressed enough as is; I mean, my contract is going to expire soon, and since I haven't been the best of fighters, Lodovico may cut me from the roster and I may have to find work in another league…"

"Wait, hold up a minute; Lodovico may cut you from the WCFL roster because you haven't been that good of a fighter? Matt, you're a fucking beast. How could he do that?"

"My record proves me to be a very low-ranked fighter. I'm 4-3, Mathias. Lodovico said that if I don't win my next fight, he's not going to give me any more in the WCFL."

"Well… Who's your next fight against?"

"Nikodemos Antonov. I'm scared as fuck… He's a BJJ practitioner with Muay Thai skills to beat anyone down to where he can submit them… I don't know what to do… I'm training as hard as I can; I don't want to lose my job in the WCFL. I've worked so hard to get here, but have never gotten anywhere. I… I don't know what I can do to prove that I belong here."

"I'll help you out."

"How so…?"

"I'll have a talk with Lodovico about your contract with the WCFL."

"Mathias, it's not like you can change anything. If I get kicked out of the league, I'll head on over to a different one."

"But Matt, you're like family. The WCFL just wouldn't be same without its favorite Canadian."

"You should worry about your own career… Mathias, you may be 3-0, but… Ivan can easily beat you if you aren't focused. As much as I hate to say it, I'm going to have to root for him when you two are fighting. He is my boyfriend after all."

"I can understand that. But Matt, you have to understand where I'm coming from; if you leave the WCFL with a 4-4 record, no other league will take you. At least, none that I've heard of."

"Mathias-"

"I got into the WCFL off a lucky opportunity. You actually worked to get here. I don't want someone like you to end up jobless because of a few losses, when you've trained so hard for each fight. You're part of the WCFL family; you deserve to be here more than I do. At least allow me a chance to talk with Lodovico about your contract."

Matthew sighed heavily. "… Fine… Just don't be surprised if he doesn't change anything."

I grinned and hugged the Canadian, who lightly hugged me back. When I released him, I ruffled his hair with my hand.

"Hey now, rookie. Don't get too playful. I may be tempted to kick you in the head again." Matt joked as he fixed his hair. I laughed a bit and turned back to the computer.

"What's a good fight you know of that I could watch?" I questioned.

"Look up…" He thought for a moment. "Look up Kirzigian versus Novkovic II. You'll be amazed at how quick of a match it was."

I typed in the fight and found a video, watching it with interest.

Novak Novkovic was introduced first, the Kirzigian was. This must have been one of Kirzigian's early title defenses, because the stats that were displayed on the video showed that the Armenian was only twenty years of age. It had been almost nine years since the fight was recorded.

The commentators off camera spoke as the octagonal cage was cleared.

"_This is Alexianos Kirzigian's second title defense, and it's not going to be easy. He's facing the heavy-handed Novak Novkovic. Novkovic is looking to win and end the "One Man Army" Kirzigian's eleven-win streak. Everyone thought that Kirzigian didn't deserve the title shot against Sadik Adnan twelve weeks ago, but he proved them wrong with that always astounding left hand."_

The other announcer began to speak. _"The Serbian Novak Novkovic isn't going to make this easy one bit for Kirzigian. He's got the height and weight advantage, and he's go some of the heaviest hits on the planet. He's defeated both Andelko Begovich and Sadik Adnan, along with countless others. He plans on giving Kirzigian his first loss tonight."_

They went on talking for about a minute, listing off details of fights that Kirzigian and Novkovic had been in. Eventually though, the bell was rung and the fight began.

The two fighters circled eachother on their toes for a few seconds before Novkovic made the first attempt to strike, aiming one of those well-known fists right at Kirzigian's ribcage. Alexianos parried the hit, and opened up a gap for a hit. With an extremely hard hit to Novkovic's ribcage, the other man went down, clutching his side. The referee jumped in-between the two, signaling to stop the fight. Kirzigian raised his arms in victory for a moment, but worriedly looked to the Serbian who was still on the ground, clutching his side.

The camera zoomed in on Novkovic, and I now realized that little drops of blood were coming from the man's mouth. Novkovic was turned over onto his back, and he pounded his foot on the mat in pain.

"_It looks like a single body shot has crippled Novkovic…" _One of the announcers said as the Serbian man was loaded onto a stretcher that medical staff brought in. _"It seems like it could possibly be a punctured lung from a broken rib. He's being rushed out of the cage as we speak, and he looks to be in quite a bit of pain."_

Kirzigian was soon declared the winner by doctor stoppage, and that's when the video ended. I turned to Matt.

"What happened to Novkovic?" I asked.

"Exactly what the announcer said. That shot from Kirzigian broke two of Novkovic's ribs, and fractured another two. One of the broken ones pierced through his lung, while the other slashed where the lung connects to the trachea. He spent a while in the hospital, and when he got out he had to regain his ability to breathe correctly with his repaired lung. A lot of people say that his ribs are permanently weak because of the hit, which is why he tends to guard his body more than he does his face."

"Damn… That was one hard hit…"

"And that wasn't even Kirzigian's left hand. I'm sure Novkovic would be dead if Kirzigian had hit him with that left."

"And… Kirzigian's only gotten better since then, correct?"

"Yeah… People are lucky to walk out of the octagon without some sort of career-ending trauma when they fight him."

"… Man, now I'm worried."

"About what?"

"Berwald Oxenstierna."

"Eh? Pourquoi?"

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone but… I'm going out with him on Friday."

"Don't be worried about him. You have to remember, Oxenstierna has fought Kirzigian three times. He's lost all three, but he hasn't ended up dead yet. He's survived the full strength of that left hand a couple times, so I'm guessing he's built up more endurance than even Ivan has."

"And Ivan can take quite a beating, correct?"

"Yes, he can. I can't say I don't worry though."

"You'll always worry about the man you love."

"I know that all too well, Mathias."

"I'm sure he worries about you as well."

"He's told me, actually."

"I still find it so odd… You two just don't seem alike whatsoever... I mean, seriously. How does that work?"

"Didn't I already tell you he's not like what you've seen him to be? He's only "Heartless" in the cage."

"You know what he told me when we signed the fight contract?"

"What'd he say?"

"I'll never forget it. Here's exactly what he said; I do not like seeing your name above mine on the roster, Køhler. I will not make this fight easy for you in any way, shape, or form. I suggest you train your medical team more than you train yourself, because in six weeks I am going to break you down to nothing. That's what he said to me. Freaked me the fuck out."

"And that's what he was trying to do. He was trying to intimidate you."

"Hey bro!" A loud voice called from across the gym. Matt and I looked to where the voice came from, and recognized who it was. It was Alfred "Freedom" F. Jones.

"Bonjour Al." Matt greeted as his American step-brother approached.

"I need a sparring partner; you up to it?" Alfred asked, grinning at the Canadian.

"I don't think you realize that I have next to no skill compared to you. Spar with him." Matt motioned to me.

"Who's this guy?" Alfred questioned, obviously unknowing of whom I was. Matt face-palmed and sighed.

"Alfred, meet the 3-0 Mathias Køhler. You should have heard about him by now; he's only been in what, a thousand articles since he joined the WCFL?"

"Oh! I know who you are now. You're the guy who knocked Matt here out with his knee! That was awesome!" Alfred exclaimed, grinning.

"Va te faire mettre." Matt muttered at his step-brother.

"Le réalité et toi, vous ne vous entendez pas, n'est-ce pas?" Alfred responded. I was completely lost, but I was sure that they were insulting eachother.

"Mes affaires font mal au cul."

"Uh… Little help? Non-French speaking fighter here, guys." I cut in.

"It's nothing, man. So what do you say, Mathias? You up for some sparring?" Alfred asked, looking to me.

"Sure. Let me get some gloves on." I replied, standing.

"Headgear too. I don't want to hurt you too bad."

"I don't need headgear. Trust me; after my fight with Lovino Vargas, I've built up quite a bit of endurance in the region that is my head."

"Alright. Well, get some gloves on and we'll get in that first ring. I'll hold back a bit since Artie told me not to strain myself."

"'Artie'..?"

"Oh; Arthur Kirkland. My coach."

"Ah. So how does he do as a coach?" I asked as I went to my duffel bag at the side of the room to retrieve a pair of gloves.

"He's great, I mean. He was one of the top-notch fighters back in the eighties. He got really demoralized by his loss to Bonnefoy. Lost the title, and never recovered…"

"How old was he when he retired?" I questioned as I slipped a pair of black gloves on and grabbed my mouth guard.

"Uh..." He dragged out the 'uh' in order to think for a few moments. "I'm not too sure… Let's see here… He joined the WCFL when he was twenty in 1978… Was in it for thirteen years… I think he was thirty-three by the time he announced his official retirement. He announced his retirement in late 1991."

"How old is he now?"

"Fifty-three. Yeah, he's getting up there in years. Still an awesome coach though. What about you? Who's your coach?"

"Tolvorn Ryker."

"Oh, that Icelandic guy! He's an old-timer as well, huh?"

"Yeah. He was champion back in 1977. He was what, twenty-one back then? He retired when he was thirty-five in early 1991. He's fifty-five now."

"I think he and Artie fought once or twice. I'll have to ask him later."

"Yeah. Well, you ready to spar?"

"Yeah, come on." He said. I slipped my mouth guard into place and stood.

Alfred and I made our way to one of the training rings. Alfred slipped his mouth guard off the waistband of his shorts where it was hooked and put it in his mouth. He pounded his gloved fists and nodded towards me.

"Ready?" He asked.

I nodded.

Alfred had his fists up, clocking his face from any strikes, so I made an attempt for a quick jab to the side of the American's slightly tanned body. He, with astonishing speed, brought one hand down and guarded his side, then placed a light counter punch to my head.

"He's pretty fast." I heard my coach's voice pipe up from the side of the ring.

"That's the way I taught him." A second voice, assumingly Alfred's coach Arthur, joined in. Alfred and I continued to spar as the two coaches talked.

"I think Mathias has a good chance of getting up there in ranks. Not a lot of guys can go 3-0 right off the start." Arthur said.

"I know. I went 2-1 to start off my first three fights. Then I practically never lost. Until you came along, "Punk". You won that decision victory by pure luck."

"Oh shush, "Protagonist". At least you didn't retire like I did."

"We both cried; I don't see how it's so different."

"I was retiring on a twelve loss streak. You were retiring on a three win streak. I still don't know why you retired like you did. If you would have stayed, you would have had a shot at the title. You could have held the title for the second time."

"I don't think I wanted to face Bonnefoy. My ground game was lacking in 1990, and by early 1991 I just wasn't feeling like the same fighter. I knew I wouldn't be in there much longer."

"I retired the same year, you know… Late 1991. December 3rd; I can remember it like no other… I had just gotten beat by Yegor "The Mad Russian" Plushenko… I had gotten submitted in the second round. I knew it was my last fight… I waited until the victory for Plushenko was announced, then made my own announcement… I said; "Every fighter has his chance. Every fighter either takes it and wins, or blows it and loses… I'm the latter; I'm out of my prime and I've decided here tonight… This is the last time I will walk out of the cage."… I cried, and later went back to London… I was welcomed by my family and eventually decided to come back to the states to train this blonde-haired moron." Arthur chuckled.

"Hey what do you know; I'm training a blonde-haired moron as well. Keep your hands up, Mathias. Alfred's going to nail you like Lovino did."

I quickly listened and put my hands up. I supposed that sparring with Alfred would help me train for fighting the "Heartless" Braginski.

Ivan "Heartless" Braginski, the Russian man who said he was going to break me down to nothing.

How wonderful.


	9. Contradiction

**A/n: **I'm so sorry that this took so long! Athletes foot+writer's block+too much school work=One frustrated Polish-Slovakian.

Bah, I'll just shut up now and get to the chapter. Enjoy.

**xxx**

I found myself a bit confused when Friday came around, and Berwald was nowhere to be seen around the gym. I actually hadn't seen him all day.

I scratched my head slightly as I looked around the small parking lot outside the gym. The Swedish wrestler's truck wasn't here.

"Y' looking for someone?" I heard a deep voice pipe up from behind me. I turned around.

"Yeah. You." I replied, chuckling a bit. He smiled slightly then put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"I just got here. Came in th' back entrance… Had t' walk here. M' truck broke down back at m' house." He explained.

"Well that sucks. Does it really matter if we walk though? I mean, we're on our feet all day. Wouldn't make much of a difference."

"True. Well, let's get going. I know this nice little restaurant uptown… Figured w' could g' there."

"Sounds good to me." I responded with a smile. I followed beside the six foot five inch tall "Beast" as he led me uptown to our destination.

I got a good look at the older man as we walked; now recognizing features I hadn't noticed before. The circles around his cerulean eyes seemed to have gotten heavier, and he still had bruises on his features from his last fight. His face, though naturally pale, had visible scars on it in places common to MMA fighters. Above his eyebrows, at the sides of his face, on his cheekbones, on the bridge of his slightly flattened nose… He must have been cut up pretty bad in a lot of his fights. One scar though, stood out from the rest.

There was a scar on his chin, angling towards the left side of his face. I stared for a few moments before I was caught.

"Something wrong?" He asked, raising a blonde eyebrow.

"Can I ask how you got that scar on your chin?" I questioned. He let out a sigh and brought one hand up, lightly tracing over the scar with a callused finger.

"If it's too personal you don't have to tell me. It just stood out from the rest of the scars on your face."

"N', n'… I'll tell y'." He paused for a moment. "Back when I lived in Sweden… I was in a bar drinking; I was eighteen at th' time… I wasn't drunk, but m' friend was. H' was one of th' stupid drunks that loves t' pick fights… H' decided t' pick a fight with th' biggest guy in th' bar, and somehow I got dragged in t' protect him. I was th' wrestling champion of th' region s'… As y' can imagine things went t' the ground pretty fast… When I had th' big guy in a rear-naked choke, h' picked up a beer bottle, smashed it, and waved it towards m' face… H' cut m' chin pretty bad… W' got kicked out of th' bar and had t' pay for the damages. I had t' get stitches… I didn't get any crimes charged on m' though, thank God."

"I'm going to guess and say that you aren't a real heavy drinker?"

"Not really. I don't like t' get drunk… M' dad was an alcoholic. Killed himself when I was thirteen; just weeks before m' first wrestling season started… Guess I sort of worked out m' sorrows on th' mats when I wrestled back when I was younger. Now I guess I just wrestle in memory of m' dad… H' wasn't such a bad guy. W' all have our problems."

"Yeah… Can I ask what your mom was like?"

"Never knew m' mom, actually. Sh' left m' dad when I was a baby. God knows where sh' is now… I wonder a lot about her. I've only seen her in pictures… I look a lot like her… Sh' had more scars though… "

I now realized; this man, this 6'5", two-hundred twenty pound, "Beast" of a Swedish man had a miserable childhood. No mother and an alcoholic father who killed himself when Berwald was only thirteen? What kind of person deserves that kind of youth?

"Who raised you… after your father killed himself?"

"Wrestling coach; Christian Thomassen. I'll never forget that man. H' made m' th' wrestler I am today."

"He still around?"

"N'… H' was pretty old when h' got custody of m'. When I left Sweden t' g' t' th' WCFL when I was nineteen… Came back when I was twenty t' find out that h' died. Told m' h' died peacefully in his sleep… Never did get t' thank him for getting m' s' far in life."

I didn't have anything to say. I mean, what was I supposed to say? 'Oh, I'm sorry you've had a horrible childhood, and the man who raised you in your teens died while you were away'? There was really nothing to say.

"What about y', Mathias?"

"What? About my parents?"

"Yeah."

"Well… My parents both live in Denmark. Hectic businesspeople… I never socialized with them much. When I met Tolvorn when he was looking for MMA prospects in Denmark, I jumped on the chance to get away from home, you know? I hate to say it, but I'm happier here than I ever was back in Denmark."

"S' y' aren't close t' your parents, huh?"

"Not really. I doubt they even cared when I left. I was just a waste of space; never was going to get anywhere with the job I had. I fucked around too much in high school to be intelligent enough to get a college degree…"

"Don't feel too bad about your level of education. I got too wrapped up in th' WCFL t' focus on studies. Maybe when I retire in God knows how long I'll g' t' college."

"Yeah…"

We soon found ourselves at the place Berwald had mentioned; it was little Italian restaurant, which was surprisingly busy. As we entered, I noticed quite a few interesting things. There was a part of the place that looked to be like an authentic Italian style, but there were various things on the walls that pertained to something rather un-Italian. Everything on the walls had something to do with the WCFL. Old signs, posters, pictures… and there was a bulletin board off to one side where pictures were posted. I noticed that they were of regular people, posing with the various fighters in the league.

"Ah, Berwald! It's good to see you again!" A cheery voice called out from a separate room that held a bar. A young man, looking nearly identical to Lovino Vargas, approached "The Beast" and I.

"Hey Feliciano." Berwald greeted. "How're y' today?"

"I'm great. It's a busy day here though. You guys can have a seat wherever you'd like; I'll send Branko out to take care of you. I'm running the bar today, so I won't be able to chat much." Feliciano replied, talking rather quick.

"Alright. Y' get back t' work then." Berwald said.

"If I have some time I'll come out and chat a bit." With that, Feliciano went back to the bar.

"Is that Lovino Vargas' brother?" I asked as Berwald and I headed off to an open table.

"Yeah. That's why there's s' much WCFL stuff around here. Feliciano likes t' honor his father and his brother by putting up all these posters and such." Berwald replied as he took his seat.

"Well that's nice of him." I commented, taking mine as well.

"Y' see that poster over there?" The Swede pointed to the wall behind me. I turned around to see what he was pointing at. It was a worn out poster that I couldn't quite read. The lettering was faded.

"The one that's hardly legible?"

"Yeah. That was one of th' advertisement posters that was for Lodovico Vargas versus Tolvorn Ryker. I think that poster had been tossed around far too much before Lodovico got a hold of it and kept it. Ended up giving it t' Feliciano when h' opened this restaurant. That thing has t' b' worth thousands by now. It's hard t' come across posters like that from th' early days of th' WCFL."

"In thirty years, it'll probably be worth millions."

"I don't doubt it."

We were silent for a few moments before a young man with light brown hair approached us.

"Good evening Berwald." I assumed the guy was Branko. "Feliciano probably told you I'd be your server for tonight." He had an interesting accent; it was almost like a mix of a Russian and a sort of Arabic-sounding accent.

"That h' did." Berwald replied.

"Alright. Well, can I start you two off with something to drink?"

"Y' know m', Branko. Water."

The server turned to me. "And you?"

"I'll have the same."

"Alright. I will be right back with some menus, and then I'll give you guys some time to decide."

"Thank y', Branko."

"It's not a problem." With that, the light-brown haired man walked off to the kitchen. I looked to Berwald.

"Where's he from?" I asked.

"Montenegro. He's a nice guy; dating Nikodemos Antonov actually."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope."

"But Nikodemos is like…" I trailed off, unable to find words to describe the Macedonian who I had defeated to go 2-0.

"Don't ask m' how Branko and Niko get along. Because I don't know. They're practically opposites."

"I know. You ever fought Nikodemos?"

"N'. When h' joined th' WCFL, I was already up in th' high ranks. H' never got far enough along t' fight m'."

"Did you ever wonder if you would have to fight him?"

"Well, back when h' was a big prospect in th' WCFL, I watched him closely. Y' never know wh' you're going t' have t' fight. But a guy like Niko just gets too overconfident t' get any farther than h' is right now. He'd have t' change his attitude t' d' much, y' know?"

"Yeah. I changed my mindset completely once I won my fight against Matthew. I mean, I went in there thinking; "Okay, this is going to be hard, but at least I'm away from Denmark"… Once I won, I was just like "Wow… Maybe I should fight for something, like the nation I was born in. Bring pride to it." You know?"

"Yeah. I'm similar… Though I still have one man t' defeat; then I'll be th' pride of m' nation."

"Then you'll be the pride of your nation? Berwald, you already are. Do you have any clue how legendary you are? You've only been defeated by one man."

"True, but still. Until I become champion, I'll b' stuck at number two in th' WCFL. No one pays attention t' th' guy in second place."

"But what's wrong with that? What's wrong with being second? At least you've solidified your place there, instead of in last place. You know what I mean?"

"You're s' optimistic, Mathias." He said, chuckling a bit.

"Yeah. I know." I replied, smiling.

Branko returned to our table and set down two glasses of water in front of Berwald and I, along with two menus.

"I'll give you two a few minutes to decide; I know you fighters can be pretty picky. We're pretty busy here today too, so I may take a little bit longer than expected." He explained.

"It's not a problem, Branko. Take your time." Berwald said.

"Alright; thanks. I'll be back soon to take your orders." And with that, the Montenegrin headed back to the kitchen to resume his work.

I glanced down at the menu and read it over; the choices were almost stereotypically Italian. Different kinds of spaghetti, lasagna, pizza, and various other things that I didn't quite know what they were. There were some distinctively American foods listed though; burgers and such.

"What're you getting?" I questioned the Swede across from me.

"Same as I normally d'. Cotechino Modena."

"What's that?"

"Sausage made from pork, fatback, and pork rind. It's a purely Italian dish… It's really good; I blame Feliciano for getting m' hooked on Italian food."

"I haven't eaten all that much Italian food in my lifetime. Pasta is about the only thing I've eaten that's remotely Italian."

"Y' should try something new. Feliciano's grandfather Rome is head chef here; h' is probably th' best chef in town."

"Is his name seriously Rome?"

"N', but that's what everyone calls him. His real name is Romano."

"Ah. So it's just kind of a shortened form of Romano."

Berwald shrugged a bit. "He's also from Rome, Italy."

"This is probably one of the most legit Italian restaurants in the US then, huh?"

"Yeah. All th' workers are from regions near Italy too. Feliciano doesn't hesitate when hiring foreigners… He's got Branko from Montenegro, Najada from Albania, Vasch from Switzerland… Vasch only sticks around t' manage th' finances, but t' m' surprise, h' knows quite a bit about Italian cuisine… Maybe he's from southern Switzerland."

"You never know."

"S' what're y' getting?" He asked.

"Hm… Chicken Cacciatore sounds good."

"Ah, yes… I have a feeling you'll like that."

I took a sip of my water then sighed a bit, looking over the slightly bruised face of the Swede in front of me yet again.

"Those bruises ever going to heal?" I questioned.

"Don't know… Novkovic has got heavy hands. They could b' there for weeks. Wouldn't b' th' worst I've ever gotten though."

"What's the worst?" I raised an eyebrow.

"I got kicked in th' head by Begovich seven times; nearly th' same place each time. Left a foot-shaped bruise on th' side of m' face for twelve weeks. Couldn't hardly touch it for three weeks, and th' hematoma that formed didn't go away for about a week. It sucked… That was th' only time I ever grew a beard. Couldn't shave." He said, chuckling.

"How the hell didn't you get knocked out? I nearly got knocked out when Matthew Williams kicked me in the head just once."

"At th' time, Begovich was recovering from surgery on his leg. His kicks weren't quite as strong, though they still hurt like hell."

"How'd you win?"

"Submission in th' third round. Guillotine choke."

"Ah. How many submission wins do you have on your record?"

"Quite a few. Still have more knockouts and TKOs but m' ground skills are feared in th' league."

"You're one of the most feared fighters just by the way you look. Honestly, when I first saw you, I was terrified. They really don't call you "The Beast" for nothing."

Berwald chuckled slightly. "I don't know if it's because I was a bodybuilder, or if it's because I'm six foot five, honestly."

"Ah, I've been meaning to ask you; how long were you a bodybuilder? I was talking with Lovino a few weeks back and we got onto the topic of you being a former bodybuilder."

"I did bodybuilding for just under two years. I used t' b' kind of lanky, t' b' honest. Now I'm th' exact opposite."

"No kidding. You're the tallest and most muscular of all the fighters I've seen in the WCFL."

"It's something I pride myself off of, I suppose."

"So what exactly do you fight for, Berwald? I mean, I know there's your dad, and your wrestling coach… Anything else?"

"M' younger brother Peter."

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah… He's back in Sweden. He's in college."

"What's he studying to be?"

"H' is studying t' b' a Professional Engineer for Europe… Couldn't tell y' much more than that about what it is; Peter's pretty damn smart."

"You get along with Peter pretty well?"

"Yeah, I d'. I don't see him a lot, but I always send money over t' him t' help him pay for anything h' needs. When we're together, w' never stop talking… It's kind of funny, actually."

"Is he anything like you?"

"Well, h' looks like m'. Same blonde hair and blue eyes… Basically a shorter, less muscular m'. He's twenty-three; so if y' can imagine m' when I was that age with less muscle and about seven inches shorter, I'd look like Peter."

"It's hard to imagine you like that." I commented, chuckling a bit.

"Yeah, I bet… what about y'? Got any siblings?"

"Nah. My parents had a hard enough time trying to raise me. There's no way they could have raised a second kid."

"S' you're an only child."

"Yep."

And just as the conversation died, Branko appeared to save the day.

"You two ready to order?" The Montenegrin questioned.

"Yeah." Berwald replied.

"Alright, what'll it be?"

"Same as I usually d', Branko."

"Cotechino Modena, correct?"

"Yes."

"And for you?" Branko looked to me.

"I'll have the Chicken Cacciatore."

"Alright." He scribbled down some words on a little notepad. "I'll be back with your food in a little while. It may take a little longer than usual since Rome has got his hands full with how busy it is tonight."

"That's fine." Berwald replied.

"Alright. If you guys need anything in the meantime, feel free to flag me down if I'm nearby." With that, the brown-haired server left to go tend to other customers.

I took a sip of my water, avoiding the gaze of the Swede in front of me. Once things went quiet between us, it was difficult to get rid of it. The intensity of those eyes would force all means of conversation from my mind.

"S' how has training been going?" Leave it to "The Beast" to save the day.

"It's been alright." I replied. "Been working a lot of ground training with Eduard while Lovino has been working with Tolvorn. Eduard kind of has authority over me when Tolvorn isn't around, so I guess he's kind of like a second coach."

"Y' plan on beating Braginski from th' ground, correct?"

"Yep. Hey, speaking of coaches, did you get a new one? Or are you on your own?"

"I have a new coach. Spanish guy named Antonio Carriedo. H' was a member of the Spanish Olympic Wrestling team for two of th' Olympics… And h' had been a professional boxer for two years. Recently quit because h' got into an accident and lost from th' middle of his finger up on three fingers on his right hand. H' can still teach what h' knows though. He's damn good at pushing m' t' improve. H' does it better than nearly every coach I've had."

"How old is this guy?"

"Thirty-five, I think. He's kind of young compared t' a lot of th' coaches I've seen."

"Yeah, really."

We both went silent for a few moments, myself quietly looking over the many distinct features of the man in front of me. I found his pale complexion to be somewhat alluring, and those eyes… _Damn _those eyes were enough to kill a man. They were so penetrating, so captivating, so _attractive._ And yes, I confess, I was officially admitting to myself my desire to get to know the Swede much more.

A man like Berwald was the kind of guy that every gay man or straight woman fantasized about. Or at least some of them. Tall, muscular, blonde haired, blue eyed, actually willing to converse... The only things that may have been slightly repellant were his heavily cauliflowered ears and the scars that burdened his face. To me though, these were signs of experience in his career. Experience in fighting professionally; something I had hardly delved into. I may have been 3-0, but I was nowhere near as popular as Berwald. With that thought, a question came to mind.

"What's it like being so popular?"

Berwald looked up. "Hm…? Well… I guess it's not too bad… Don't really have too much time t' myself, but it's kind of entertaining t' see th' fans, y' know? I g' t' meet-and-greets and talk with some of m' fans… Sign stuff, pose for pictures… Being ranked number two in th' WCFL is both a burden and a blessing… Can't tell y' how many times someone has asked m' when I'm finally going t' beat Kirzigian…" he chuckled slightly. "I always tell them that I don't know, because really, I don't. Y' know?"

"Yeah. Say… I've noticed that you've got some pretty dark bags around your eyes… You been getting enough sleep?" I asked. Berwald shifted in his chair and sighed, shaking his head.

"N', not really. Th' anticipation keeps m' awake…"

"Anticipation for fighting Alexianos?"

"Yes… Y' have n' clue what it's like, t' have t' train as hard as I d'… I don't want t' lose this next match… Losing four times t' Kirzigian… It'd be devastating. I don't know if I'd b' able t' pick myself up again."

"You've done it three times already, haven't you? You've blown away the competition to get this chance, and if you screw up and lose, there's always the next time."

"But what if there-"

"Oh don't you start playing the 'what if' game with me. Berwald, you go out there in that octagon when you face Kirzigian, and you give it your all. Just forget about those three losses; they're in the past. If you lose again, it won't matter. You're "The Beast"; the man who has only been defeated by Alexianos Kirzigian. You're extremely popular with the fans, you've got all the money a man could ask for, and you're a nice guy. Honestly, Berwald, I think you're fucking amazing. Not just as a fighter, but as a person as well. I don't want you saying 'what if'."

"But-"

"No buts, Berwald."

He chuckled a bit. "Alright then."

ooo

Berwald and I's date was actually pretty nice. The food was great, and I wouldn't be surprised if we ended up going there again. Now I could blame Berwald for getting me hooked on Italian food. Haha.

As we headed down the street at about nine at night, with the cold wind nipping at our extremities, things were quiet. We were going to my apartment, where the Swede would leave me in favor of heading back to his place.

I, with what feeling I had left in my hand, felt a callused hand gently grip my fingers. I glanced over at the Swede beside me, a light blush creeping onto my cheeks. Smiling slightly, I laced my fingers with his, noting the fact of how rough and beaten up they felt.

"Y' know Mathias, you're pretty nice… It's been quite some time since I've dated anyone, but even s', you're not like th' other guys I've been out with. Y' may seem like a bit of a dimwit at first, but you're actually pretty smart… And you're not half-bad looking either." He smiled a bit to himself. "I'd like t' g' out with y' again sometime, if y' don't mind."

I found myself smiling like the idiot I was and scratching the back of my head with my free hand.

"I think that'd be great, Berwald."

He glanced down at me for a moment before returning his eyes forward. "Thanks." He said simply.

I chuckled. "It's not a problem. I really enjoyed tonight. You're pretty great, to be honest. You're unlike anyone I've ever met."

"I've been told that before, but that's n' surprise."

"Not at all… You want to know what really drew me in to even think about dating you?"

"What?"

"Your eyes."

"Really?"

"Yep… This may sound kind of cheesy, but whatever. I find them rather compelling. You know that day we locked eyes in the gym? Before we met eachother?"

"Yeah."

"That's when I started crushing on you." I said, laughing a bit; more at myself than anything. "I didn't even know you, or hardly anything about you. Just found you extremely mesmerizing."

"Is that so?"

"Yep. Say, what did you think of me when you first saw me?"

"I thought maybe I'd end up fighting y' in the future, t' b' honest. Didn't think much of y' other than that. Just "The Rookie", another guy trying t' get up t' Kirzigian."

"I see… So how did you find out from Eduard that I liked you?"

"Well, h' came up t' m' and said h' had something important t' tell m'… I stopped training for a moment t' listen t' him, and h' just bluntly said 'Mathias Køhler, that one Danish guy, has a crush on y'. Y' should ask him out before h' drives himself nuts.' And s' I did."

"That lying bastard said he wouldn't tell anyone." I responded, laughing.

"When were y' planning on telling m' that y' liked m'? Or were y' not planning on it at all?"

"Well, I was going to wait until I couldn't take it anymore. That would have given me a month or so."

"Y' wanted t' wait until y' knew a bit more about m', huh?"

"Yeah."

As we got to the parking lot of my apartment complex, I looked to Berwald. "Well, my apartment is in this place… So, I guess I'll talk to you sometime soon?"

He nodded. "I'll try t' stop by th' gym tomorrow. Antonio is going t' have m' working on cardio, s' I'll probably b' jogging around town."

"Alright… Thanks again, Berwald. I had a great time."

"It's not a problem, Mathias." He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on my cheek before turning and heading off. I sat there, that same idiotic smile on my face as before, and brought my hand up to my cheek, touching the spot where those warm lips had just been.

Oh how wonderful. Berwald, you would be the death of me with your contradicting actions and looks. So intense, yet so gentle. So powerful, yet so humble. So robust, yet so kind.

Yep; I had official fallen for him.


	10. Køhler vs Braginski

**A/n: **Originally, this chapter was going to include Mathias versus Ivan, Matthew versus Nikodemos, and Alexianos versus Berwald, but that was going to turn out way too long. So Alexianos versus Berwald will be in the next chapter.

Enjoy.

**xxx**

The weeks passed by quickly, just like they always did.

I soon found myself in the locker room before the WCFL event started. "WCFL 253- Ascension" was the title of the event. My fight, my oh-so brutally trained-for fight, was once again and undercard fight. There were seven fights on the card, and mine was considered to be the least important, so I would kick things off to build suspense for the Main Event, which would happen after six fights.

The seven fights were, from undercard to maincard; Køhler versus Braginski, Williams versus Antonov, Lorinatus versus Fernandez, Vargas versus Beilschmidt, Begovich versus Johansson, Novkovic versus Adnan, and then finally Kirzigian versus Oxenstierna. They were all great fights scheduled. Once my match was over and done with, and my post-fight conference was finished, I was to go out and watch what I could. There was no way I was missing Alexianos and Berwald's fight. Thankfully, it wouldn't be hard for me to get a seat. Tino, Alexianos' husband, had taken the grace of reserving a front row seat for me.

"Alright, rookie. Five minutes 'till showtime. You ready for this?" Tolvorn's voice piped up from the entrance of the locker room. I stood from the bench and ran my gloved hands through my hair, letting a heavy breath out.

"Yeah. Let's do it." I looked to him.

"Remember, kid." My coach approached me and put his hands on my unclothed shoulders. "Get him to the ground and don't let him get any advantages. This is what we've worked for. After six weeks of hell with Eduard, are you going to lose this?"

"No, I'm not."

"That's the spirit, rookie. Here; I got you a custom-made mouth piece. Just arrived like a half hour ago." My coach placed a mouth guard in my hand. I took a look at it and smirked. It was adorned with the Danish flag.

"Wear it proudly, you Danish rookie." He said, chuckling a bit. I slipped the mouth guard in; to my surprise, it fit my teeth perfectly. Tolvorn must have had it custom made with a mold from one of my other mouth guards.

After a few moments of waiting the door to the locker room opened and a man in a "staff" t-shirt poked his head in.

"Your guy is up, Tolvorn. Showtime." The man then left.

Tolvorn looked back to me. "Let's get out there and kick some ass, Mathias. Braginski's got nothing on you."

With that, we exited the locker room and went through the tunnel, heading out into the stadium. Bright lights above my head cast colored spots on the sold-out crowd, who cheered wildly. Cameras filmed from everywhere; this was live television after all.

Fans reached out from their seats and patted my arms and back; I gave a few of them high fives, but mainly focused on the octagonal cage ahead. I was going to be the first to be in the cage; I would get to see the crowd's reacting to the entrance of Ivan Braginski.

I walked into the cage, the all-too familiar feel of the light-warmed mat beneath my feet. I went to my corner and waited for Braginski to enter. I breathed slowly as the crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer after what was probably fifteen seconds of waiting; Ivan Braginski had exited his locker room.

I spotted him as he made his way to the doors of the cage; he was wearing white and blue board shorts, with numerous sponsor logos on them. He was soft in muscularity, but I knew he was strong. He used his height and weight against his opponents. He, despite his intimidating aura, had a smile on his face, just creepy enough to get me to cringe slightly. Was I really prepared to fight someone who played a mental game, as well as a physical game with their opponent?

I guessed we would find out soon.

The announcer, a guy I learned had the name of Brian O'Keeffe, stepped up to the center of the octagon to introduce Ivan and I.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, we are live! Starting off our pay-per-view event here in the sold-out WCFL Center, we have an undercard fight. Introducing first," Brian motioned to the man across from me.

"Fighting out of the red corner, with a record of 23-11, this man is a boxer, fighting out of Volgograd, Russia… Standing at six feet three inches tall, weighing in at two-hundred pounds… he is Ivan "Heartless" Braginski!"

The crowd cheered loudly for the Russian man, who put one fist in the arm, smirking at me. I refused to let him get to me.

"And now, introducing second, fighting out of the blue corner with a record of 3-0, this man is a Generalist, fighting out of Copenhagen, Denmark… Standing at six feet tall, weighing one-hundred ninety pounds… He is "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

I stepped forward slightly and raised my hands in the air as the crowd cheered; I had decent recognition on the league. Going 3-0 wasn't easy to do.

I stepped back into my corner and let out a slow breath, curling my hands into fists as the media and coaches cleared the cage. My eyes were locked with Braginski's; we were ready to fight.

Once the cage was cleared and the ref stood in the center of the mat, my Russian opponent and I got into fighting stances. Braginski had a rather tall stance, his back straight instead of slightly hunched like mine.

"Are you ready?" The ref asked my adversary and I. We both nodded.

"Let's get it on!" The ref swung his arms down and the bell was rung, signaling the start of the first round.

Braginski and I circled eachother for a few moments, before he stepped forward with a heavy body shot. I guarded then came back with a counter, connecting a right fist with the side of his head. He stepped back then stepped forward once again with a ducking overhand punch, which I parried. He brought his arms up to guard his head, which gave me a chance to strike his body. I lifted my foot off the ground and placed a hard push kick to his stomach, which caused him to take a few steps back.

He, with a smirk, shook his head slightly, glaring right at me. I found myself slightly caught off guard as he surged forward with a flurry of heavy yet quick punches; some of them I blocked, but others connected.

When he went for a final right hook as I stumbled back, dazed, I ducked down, causing him to miss. I surged forward and wrapped my arms around the abdomen of the Russian man. He placed his hands on my back, making an attempt to get me off of him, but it was too late. I shifted my weight downwards and brought my hands down to his thighs, lifting the two-hundred pound man off the ground just enough to slam him down on the ground with a heavy thud.

We tangled for a few moments before I got stuck in full mount against the Russian's chest. He was trying with all his might for me to not get to the point where I could easily knock him out. He was breathing heavily already, and Matthew Williams' words ran through my mind.

"_Ivan's cardio is lacking."_

I resisted the urge to smirk as I formulated a plan in my head. Beat down his body so that it was harder for him to breathe. Exhaust him with grappling.

I slipped down into side mount and began to brutalize his right side with knees while holding him down the best I could. But holding down a two-hundred pound man was more difficult than you would think. He rolled out from under me and we both stood. I was breathing only slightly hard, while Ivan was now trying to regain his breath. The crowd erupted into chants of "Rookie" and I found myself with a slightly smug smile on my face. Braginski obviously dislike this and, despite his exhaustion, went forward with a few sloppy punches. I easily parried them and got in a Muay Thai clinch, my hands on both sides of Braginski's neck. I pulled him towards me with one knee up, landing a vicious knee to his face. He stumbled backwards, blood now streaming from his busted nose.

The crowd cheered even louder in reaction to the blood, which drove me to taunt my opponent by laughing slightly. He smiled and shook his head, ducking with a jarring overhand left that connected with the right side of my forehead. It stung like hell, and I felt blood trickle down into my eye. Now we were both bleeding.

I swiped a hand over my eye to clear the blood from it and circled Braginski for a few moments. Now we were like sharks, sent on the attack by the smell, or in this case, sight of the red liquid emergind from our wounds.

I threw a hard leg kick at Braginski, followed by a second kick with my other foot that connected with his right side. He grunted and cringed; I knew that side was hurt with the punishment I had dished out earlier with my knees.

He lowered his stance and his arms so that it was easier to guard his body. I stepped forward, and without much of a second though, did an axe kick which struck Braginski's head twice; once with the top of my foot when it was going up, and once with my heel when it was coming back down. He fell down from the second hit onto his stomach, but wasn't knocked out. He was merely stunned. I clambered on top of him and got into a back mount, wrapping my arm around his neck and pulling back; he used his weight against me and kept me from being able to get him into the correct position for a rear-naked choke. I released his neck and moved to side-back mount, my knees once again striking his exposed right side while I held him down to the mat.

He, in order to protect his damaged side, rolled over and pulled my head down to his chest. I was now in side mount, but I had started to tire. All this effort to wear him down was starting to wear me down as well. Despite my slight exhaustion, I reached over and used the side of my fist to pound on that right side of the Russian some more. With each hit came a grunt and a cringe from the worn out man. When we were both not making any attempts to change our position on the ground, the ref stepped in and forced us to stand up. I now got a perfect look at the damage I had done.

Braginski's side was swollen and bruised, and his right arm was now covering the area the best it could in an attempt to prevent further damage. I knew my constant brutality to that side was hurting him.

I glanced up at the clock hanging from the ceiling of the stadium, checking how much longer was left in the round. Five seconds were left, so I merely stepped back and waited. When the bell rung, Braginski and I returned to our corners.

Our coaches came out and I watched as the medical staff placed a bag of ice on the side of my Russian opponent as he sat down. I sat in the stool provided to me and breathed steadily, catching my breath. I hardly minded the pain I felt was the medical staff on my side worked on temporarily sealing the cut on my forehead. Tolvorn grinned and began to talk to me.

"That was amazing, Mathias. That round was all yours; you don't need to change anything. You're wearing him down very well. Just keep hitting that side; once he thinks that his body is all you're going to go for, bring out punches to the face. Kicks to the head. Knees like you did to break his nose. You're doing fucking amazing. How're you feeling?" I gave him a thumbs up.

"Great. Now get in there and win this." With that, Tolvorn and the medical staff exited the cage. I stood and shook out my hands before closing them into fists once again. Braginski was soon up, and I felt satisfied that he now had a more serious look on his face. I had beaten that creepy smile off his face.

When the bell was rung as a start to the second round, I went on the attack. I launched a roundhouse kick to that damaged right side, but to my surprise, he took the hit and grabbed my leg, pulling me close then taking me down. He still had a grip on my leg tight against his right side as he brought himself into half guard, sitting on my left leg. I guarded myself as he threw a few strong punches at me with his free left hand, but many of them landed, and I was feeling it. He pounded a fist on my forehead, reopening the cut that he had previously made, before letting go of my leg and moving up to full mount. I struggled to defend against his transitions due to the fact that I now had a two-hundred pound man sitting on my stomach.

I did my best to keep his head down on my chest, but he went over my arms to my head with those vicious elbows I had seen before. Now I knew what kind of hell Gilbert Beilschmidt had gone through.

I attempted to punch his right side, but he guarded and then took his opportunity to get his head off of my chest. Now he was wailing on me with those large gloved fists of his, body shots and shots to my head and face. I did my best to guard, but was countered each time. Every time I guarded my face, he struck my exposed ribs. Every time I guarded my body, he struck my face. Things now weren't going my way.

Blood from my face dripped down and stained the mat, and blood that had begun flowing once again from Braginski's broken nose now speckled my chest and arms.

"Shift with your hips, Mathias! Roll over, shoulders first, and then turn your hips; your legs will follow! Get out of that position!" A new voice joined in from my corner, once I recognized to be that of Eduard Von Bock.

With what strength I could muster, I turned my shoulders to the left, making myself perpendicular with the mat below me. With a quick shift of my hips, Ivan was now on my back. I brought my knees up and got myself off the ground so that my opponent wasn't crushing me.

I felt one of his blood-covered arms wrap around my neck, but he failed to get the submission locked in correctly and I escaped, squirming out from underneath him and standing. Both of us now completely exhausted, we stood.

We circled eachother, glaring into the eyes of the other. His shorts were now stained red in certain parts by both mine and his own blood. His elbows and gloved hands were similar. The red liquid that was all too familiar now streamed from his broken nose, causing little circles on the mat below us.

I bet if you looked at me, I wasn't much different. I was going to guess I had at least three cuts; the one on my forehead, and then another two elsewhere. I couldn't exactly pinpoint the source of the blood that was hindering my vision, but as the bell rung, signaling the end of the second round, I knew I would find out.

I went over to my corner and sat in the stool provided to me by my coach, leaning against the chain link of the cage behind me. I breathed hard as the medical team cleared the blood from my eyes and face, and bean sealing up the cuts. I was correct with my assumption; there were two new cuts adorning my face. One was on my left cheekbone, and the other was on my left eyebrow. The medical staff was joined by Tolvorn and Eduard.

"When the hell did you get here, Ed?" I asked as he handed me an opened bottle of water.

"That doesn't matter. Just listen up; you can't let him get on top of you like that. Remember your training; it's all in the hips when you're on the ground. If he gets and advantage on you, just roll over the way I told you to. Get into an advantage position on top of Braginski and submit him. Use that damaged side against him; once you have an armbar or something, put pressure on that side, hit it if you can. That'll loosen him up enough to where you can get it locked in."

I took a drink of my water then sighed, standing. I then handed the bottle of water to Eduard.

"Last round, Mathias. Make it count." Tolvorn said as they, along with the medical staff, exited the ring.

Soon, yet again, I found myself in the cage with only the ref and Braginski. The blood stains on the mat were numerous, and a large amount was collected in the area Ivan had dominated me on the ground. The Russian boxer and I were both exhausted, chests heaving, bodies sore from the abundance of lactic acid in our muscles.

This was the final round. I had won the first round, Ivan had won the second. This was do or die; it was win or lose here.

When the bell rung, Ivan and I circled eachother for what seemed like the thousandth time. His guard was low, as was mine. We were too exhausted to keep our hands up. Sweat dripped down our bodies, mixing with the stains of blood on our shorts, and joining the small droplets of blood on the mat below our feet.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion as I used what strength I had left in my legs to launch myself forward. I landed a direct hit with what was known as a superman punch, scoring with my right fist connecting to the face of my opponent. Ivan stumbled backwards and I continued to pursue him as the crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer.

I placed a heavy kick to his right side, then, as he curled up slightly in recoil from the strike, I hit him as hard as I could with a left hook.

"Heartless" Braginski fell on his back limply, out cold. The ref jumped in and stopped the fight and the bell was rung. I grinned and threw one fist in the air, shouting in Danish.

Media, coaches, and medical staff hurried in and I hugged Tolvorn and Eduard as they approached me.

"Now that, Mathias, was one hell of a fight." Tolvorn said, patting the matted mess of hair upon my head.

"Yeah, really… I can't hardly breathe." I replied, laughing a bit as I removed my mouth guard. Eduard patted my back.

"It would have been worse if you hadn't done all that cardio training, huh?" He commented.

"No kidding…" I muttered as I went to the middle of the ring where the ref was waiting, along with the announcer. Ivan was still unconscious on the mat.

"And now," Brian O'Keeffe began. "Announcing the winner by knockout at twenty-three seconds into the third round… "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!" The ref raised my arm in the air and I grinned.

Once the ref released my arm I took a moment to pose for the cameras before finally exiting the cage. The crowd that could reach me patted my back and arms as I headed to the locker room, where the next fighter was getting ready. It was Matt.

"Hey there, Mathias. I saw that win; you did a good job. I have to admit, I was rooting for you despite the fact that Ivan is my boyfriend." He told me. I laughed a bit and put a gloved hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks a lot, man… I'm fucking exhausted… I'm going to hang around to watch your fight though. I hope you win. I couldn't strike up anything with Lodovico; that bastard is more stubborn than Antonov…"

"Don't worry about it, Mathias. I've trained hard, and I'm set on winning this." He replied.

"That's the spirit… I'm going to take a shower now… Fuck, your boyfriend exhausted me more than anyone ever has… I'll be lucky to walk back out to the seats to watch you fight."

Matthew laughed as he shed his shirt and tossed it in his locker. "That'll happen to you, Mathias. Don't slip and fall in that shower. You may not have the strength to get up."

"Fuck you…" I joked as I walked to the showers.

Matt soon exited to go to the octagon, and I was able to get dressed and freshened up a bit before I was to go out and sit next to Tino to watch the rest of the WCFL event.

Tolvorn entered the locker room as I pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

"You, Mr. Køhler, are one hell of a fighter. 4-0? You have an amazing foothold in the league now; did you hear the fans cheering for you when you won?" He asked.

"How couldn't I have heard them?" I replied, chuckling a bit. I turned to him and gave the shorter man a tight hug.

"Thanks for the coaching, Tolvorn." I said. He patted my back.

"It's what I do. Now let's get you to that post-fight conference, and then out to watch the rest of the event. I have to head home after the conference, so after it, you're on your own. Be careful." He responded as I let go of him.

"Let's go." I agreed, slipping on my tennis shoes and walking out with the Icelandic man.

We made it to the conference and went through it quickly; I soon found myself heading back out to the seats of the stadium. Once I located Tino, sitting in the front row by the blue corner's side of the ring, I walked over.

I sat in the empty chair next to him with a smile on my face.

"Ah, Mathias. That was amazing." He said, giving me a hug, and to my surprise, a peck on the cheek. I knew it was just a friendly one though.

"Thanks Tino… I am so exhausted, you have no idea." I replied, my eyes fixated on the two fighters who were now brawling inside the cage.

"I'm sure I don't… I probably couldn't last even a single round with the amount of work you guys did in the cage there. I may be fit, but I'm nowhere near as fit as you guys."

"All it takes is a little bit of training."

"A little bit? Oh please, you guys train practically nonstop. I hardly ever see Alexianos. The most I see of him is when he comes home at night and he's completely exhausted. I've had resort to carrying him to bed quite a bit since he usually passes out on the first piece of furniture he sits on."

I laughed a bit. "He has reason to train that hard; he's 39-0 for God's sake. He's got to be one of the most fit men out there."

"I would know; I'm his husband."

"Yeah… Say, what's happened so far in this fight that I've missed?"

"Not too much… A lot of failed takedowns and missed hits."

I watched as Matt and Nikodemos circled eachother in the ring. A few strikes were thrown, but nothing was really effective. Nikodemos went for a takedown, but Matt sprawled and denied him the chance to go to the ground before standing and backing away a bit.

The bell to end the round was rung not long after and the two fighters returned to their corners.

"There's not much going on here…" I commented.

"I've seen worse." Tino responded.

"Is that so?"

"Last year Alexander Johansson and his brother Joachim had to fight each other… They didn't really do anything and the fight was ruled a no-contest."

"Well… They're brothers. That's different. This is Matt's do-or-die fight."

"What do you mean?"

"If Matt doesn't win this fight, his contract with the WCFL won't be renewed and he'll be booted off the official roster."

"Well damn… I hope he wins then. He's such a good guy; he deserves to be in the WCFL."

"I know. Lodovico told me that it was just a matter of pleasing the fans. If Matt doesn't put on a good show and just keeps losing, there's no use in keeping him. Told me it's all business. I'm just thinking he's stereotyping that Matt should be as good as Alfred or something along those lines, since they're step-brothers. You know?"

"Yeah… But in the end this all boils down to business. You can't blame Lodovico for running it."

"I guess…"

"Looks like they're starting up again."

I regarded the fight in the octagon as the bell to start the second round began. I watched as Matt slid forward with a head kick and nailed Nikodemos, and didn't pause to keep going forward with numerous punches. Something had definitely clicked in the Canadian man's head, and he was now on the attack.

I craned my neck to witness as Nikodemos took Matthew down, working to lock in a guillotine choke.

"Shit… come on, Matt…" I muttered.

After a few moments, I realized the referee jumping in and separating the two fighters. Nikodemos jumped up from the ground, grinning and shouting, pounding his chest.

"Damn it; Matt lost!" I cursed. I watched as medical staff hurried in to check on Matt who slowly got to his feet, shaking his head.

"And now, announcing the winner by way of a Guillotine choke at one minute two seconds into the second round, Nikodemos Antonov!" Brian O'Keeffe announced. Once Nikodemos had made his exit, Matthew was given time to speak to the fans. He was announcing his retirement from the WCFL due to his contract expiring.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" The Canadian started. "There's nowhere I'd rather be than here in the cage fighting… But this was my do-or-die fight… My contract, with that loss, is over… I'm sad to say that I must retire from the World-Class Fighting League with a record of 4-4… I'm glad to have spent a portion of my life here with everyone. Thank you all."

The crowd cheered for the departing Canadian, who raised a gloved fist in the air as he exited the octagon one final time.

"I'm going to go talk to him. Be right back." I told Tino, standing from my seat and heading to the locker room to catch up with Matthew.

I came up beside him as he entered the locker room.

"Hey Matt. It sucks to see that you have to retire…" I said.

"It's alright. I lost on purpose, you know."

"You did _what_?"

"Face it, Mathias. I'm just not cut out for this kind of career… I'm so tired of training for weeks on end, only to get my ass kicked. I want to go back to Canada; move back to Montreal, you know? Not be stuck in my step-brother's shadow all the time."

"But what're you going to do? I mean…"

"I'm fairly educated. A year or two more in college and I'll be set with a good career; something I can handle better than fighting. And I won't have any trouble paying for anything; I've saved up nearly all the money I've earned here with the WCFL."

I sighed. "Well, at least keep in touch with me if you go back to Canada, alright?"

"I'll be sure to. Now head back out and watch the event. I'm going to go home and rest… If you go to the café tomorrow morning, I'll be there. It'll be my last time there, probably."

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow then. Give me a hug, you Canadian bastard." I said. He chuckled a bit and we hugged. It was actually kind of heartbreaking to have seen Matt's final fight in the WCFL, and to have learned that he lost of purpose.

I exited the locker room once we let go of eachother, returning to Tino. I sat down in my seat with a heavy sigh.

"He alright?" Tino asked.

"Yeah. He's fine." I replied. "Say's that he's going to move back to Canada. Tomorrow morning he's going to be at the café one last time before he heads up."

"I'll be sure to make him something special then before he goes. He's such a great guy, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."


	11. Oxenstierna vs Kirzigian

The next four fights of the event went by oh-so slowly. The anticipation for Alexianos and Berwald's match was rising with each fight that went by.

I had to say though; the four fights that I witnessed prior to Kirzigian versus Oxenstierna were amazing. Toris Lorinatus had knocked out Hector Fernandez with a spinning backfist, Lovino had knocked out Gilbert Beilschmidt with a deadly left head kick, Alexander Johansson had submitted Andelko Begovich with a triangle choke, and Sadik Adnan had knocked Novak Novkovic out cold with a flurry of punches. They were all exciting fights, but now it was time for the main event; the title fight.

Tino and I both watched intently as the lights went dim and a single spotlight went to the exit to one of the tunnels where the fighters came out of. The crowd around us cheered insanely loud as we recognized the entering fighter to be Berwald. He had his head down and was staring at the ground, slowly walking towards the cage. He had on blue shorts with a yellow cross down each of the sides, obviously a design of the Swedish flag. Numerous logos of sponsors had been placed over the design, but regardless, you could tell that he was proud to be Swedish. Berwald was followed closely by his coach Antonio.

The heavily-muscled man made his way up into the cage and to his corner, looking as intense as ever. He was unmoving as the spotlight shifted over to the opposite side of the stadium. The crowd erupted into a thunderous roar as Alexianos made his way out of the tunnel, wearing a pair of tight, black, mid-thigh length shorts. He was smiling and giving fans high fives as he walked by them, and eventually made it to the cage with his coach in tow. He bounced on his toes as the stadium's lights focused now on the mat, where media, coaches, the ref, and the announcer awaited.

Brian O'Keeffe stepped up to the center of the mat and the crowd quieted down slightly.

"And now, the main event of the evening… This is a title fight. Introducing first," The Irishman motioned to Berwald.

"Fighting out of the red corner, with a record of 35-3, this man is a wrestler and a boxer, fighting out of Stockholm, Sweden… Standing at six-foot five-inches tall, weighing two-hundred sixteen pounds, he is the challenger… Berwald "The Beast" Oxenstierna!" The crowd once again emitted an incredibly loud cheer for the Swede, before dying down for the introduction of Alexianos.

"And now, introducing second," Brian motioned to the Armenian in the opposite corner to Berwald.

"Fighting out of the blue corner, with a record of 39-0, his man is a boxer and a wrestler, fighting out of Vagharshapat, Armenia… Standing at five-foot six-inches tall, weighing one-hundred sixty-seven pounds, he is the reigning, defending World-Class Fighting League champion… Alexianos "One Man Army" Kirzigian!"

Alexianos raised a gloved fist in the air as the crowd cheered deafeningly loud for him before dying down as Kirzigian and Oxenstierna went to the center of the mat for the traditional stare down and briefing of the rules before the fight began. Berwald and Alexianos were mere inches from eachother, the latter having to look up in order to lock eyes with the other.

The referee began to speak into a microphone for the briefing of the rules. "Alright guys, this is for the championship. Five three minute rounds; all rules of a normal fight apply. Touch gloves if you would like and return to your corners."

Alex held up one fist to Berwald, who looked down at the blue glove, then shook his head a bit. He slowly backed up into his corner, glaring at the smaller Armenian. I had a feeling Berwald was going to radiate malevolence the entire time he was fighting; he didn't want to lose this rematch.

The media and the announcers, along with the coaches cleared the cage, leaving just Berwald, Alexianos, and the ref. Tino and I were on the edges of our seats in anticipation for that starting bell.

Once it was rung, the intense first round began, and the title was on the line.

Berwald and Alexianos circled eachother in their fight stances; Alexianos, despite his height difference, was in a hunched boxing stance, arms close to his body. Berwald had a very spread wrestling stance, practically matching the height of his opponent.

Alex was the first one to throw a strike, aiming the deadly left hand at Berwald's face. The shot was blocked, but still made a heavy smack against the arms of "The Beast". Berwald lowered his guard slightly, and then sprung forward, grasping the legs of his rival and trying to take him down.

Alexianos resisted and was shoved up against the cage, with Berwald's head under his right arm. Berwald attempted to lift the Armenian off the ground, but was stopped by the "One Man Army" turning around, his chest now up against the chain link of the octagonal cage.

What came next surprised the hell out of me. Berwald wrapped his arms tightly around the stomach of Kirzigian and stuck his head under the left arm of the shorter man. He then lifted Alexianos clear off the mat and over his shoulder, slamming the Armenian down neck and shoulder first on the ground with a brutal German Suplex. But the Swede didn't stop there.

He rolled over, using his near fifty-pound advantage to take the back of the "One Man Army". Once he was sitting on Alexianos' back, he began pounding his huge fists on the sides of the Armenian's head. Merely shaking off the heavy blows, Alexianos placed his hands flat on the mat below him and brought his knees up to his chest, springing forward to escape the ground game of "The Beast".

They both stood and turned to eachother. Berwald changed his stance to a boxing stance, now possibly taking the risk of going toe-to-toe with the heavy-handed Kirzigian.

Alexianos slid forward with a straight right, which connected with Berwald's ribs. I could practically feel the hit from just the sound it made. Berwald took a step back, before stepping forward with a few quick punches, which were all blocked.

Alexianos, in an attempt to change things up, went for an inside thigh-kick, but missed and struck the groin of Berwald, who cringed and immediately backed away. The ref stepped in; a shot like that allowed the victim fighter a max of five minutes to recover.

Berwald walked over and braced himself against the cage, a hand over his crotch. Alexianos returned to his corner, shaking his head. He probably felt pretty bad for kicking Berwald where it hurts.

After about a minute, Berwald had recovered and nodded to the ref in a signal to continue the fight. The referee looked to both fighters, who got ready, then swung his arms down to start up the round again.

Berwald now took a low stance once again, hands open, body tense. Alexianos continued in his hunched boxing stance, offering to touch gloves with the Swede before they threw any strikes. Berwald pounded a fist against Alex's before the two circled eachother for a few seconds.

Alexianos, with astounding speed, threw a combination of punches. Some were blocked, but quite a few landed, opening up a cut on the side of Berwald's face.

"Alexianos smells blood now… He'll be on the attack all round if Berwald doesn't do something soon…" I heard Tino say. I glanced to the Finn for a moment, then back to the fight.

Berwald shifted his weight forward and leaped at the elder man, colliding a large shoulder with the stomach of Alexianos and taking him down. Berwald, now in side mount on top of a gasping Kirzigian, refused to let him regain his breath, punishing his stomach and sides with numerous strikes.

"Oh God, get out of there, Alex…" Tino mumbled, covering his mouth with a hand out of worry.

Berwald shifted into full mount, now sitting on the stomach of his Armenian opponent; I knew Berwald was using all his weight against Kirzigian. That was over two-hundred pounds of pressure on top of Alexianos.

Berwald brought those giant fists down on Alexianos' face multiple times; Alexianos though, using astounding skill, parried each of the hits. Berwald, now breathing hard, had to stand up to try to regain his breath. Alexianos was a bit slower to get to his feet though, obviously still slightly out of breath from that brutal takedown earlier.

Sweat dripped down both of their bodies, and caused their hair to cling to their faces in matted messes. Blood poured from the open cut on the side of Berwald's face, causing streaks of red to appear on his pale skin.

Alexianos closed in with that devastating left hand, nailing Berwald right on the jaw with a brutal hook; to my surprise, the Swede remained standing and even made a futile attempt to counter. Alexianos moved in close yet again and tried for a right uppercut, which was parried by "The Beast". Berwald landed a counter strike, smacking a left straight against the face of the Armenian man.

Blood now flowed freely from the nose of Alexianos, obviously indicating a break. Both men were now bleeding.

The two were about to throw more strikes, but the bell ringing stopped them. The first round had ended. As the two fighters went to their corners, I looked to Tino.

"First round looked mostly in Berwald's favor… Do you think Alex will come back?" I asked.

"Their fights are always like this. I have a feeling Alex will take the next round… I don't know if it'll go past the third round; that's the farthest Berwald's ever made it against Alex is three out of five rounds." He replied.

"Yeah… But credit to Berwald for recovering from that groin shot so quick. I know I couldn't do that…"

"That's what Alex gets for trying to be unpredictable. He isn't a kick boxer, so I don't understand why he even attempted to land such a difficult shot… He can easily win with just his fists."

"He's proven that thirty-nine times."

"I know…"

We watched as the break between rounds ended, and the bell was rung a second time, signaling the start of the second round.

Berwald and Alexianos approached each other, fists up and bodies tense. If either of them were tired, they weren't showing it.

Alex threw the first strike of the round, landing a hard left uppercut to the lower ribcage of Berwald. I could have sworn that I heard something crack, but it was anyone's guess to whether he was injured or not. Berwald showed no signs of pain, merely taking the hit.

Kirzigian followed up the body shot with a right hook that was guarded, along with a second body shot that was guarded as well. Berwald ducked down and went for the legs of his opponent, but Alexianos sprawled, avoiding the takedown. The two stood once again, and the crowd rose out of their seats as the fighters began to tee off. Both landed numerous shots to the head and body over and over, grunts and quick exhalations being released each time a shot landed.

When the Armenian and the Swede stepped away from eachother, everyone got a good look at the damage that had been done. Berwald's nose was definitely broken, and he now had numerous cuts on his face. His body was reddened and swelling, bruising up from the heavy shots his rival had landed. Alexianos had cuts upon his face as well, and kept swiping his fingers over his eyes to clear the blood from them. His body though, looked to be in better shape than Berwald's.

The "One Man Army" slid forward then jumped up with one fist reared back, surprising Berwald with a left superman punch that connected with astounding force. Berwald fell backwards, back against the cage, but he wasn't out. Alexianos wanted to make sure the Swede didn't get up, so he half ran up to the Swede and aimed a downwards punch right at his head.

Just before the strike landed, Berwald grabbed the Armenian's hand and pulled him down into his guard, wrapping his arms around Alexianos' shoulders to keep him immobilized. Alex used what movement he had in his arms to punch the sides of the Swede holding him, which was effective in loosening Berwald's grip. Alexianos escaped and stood, backing away and giving Berwald a chance to stand.

Once the Swede was up, the shorter champion was on the attack once again, drilling multiple hits into already bruised and bleeding areas. Berwald was only saved by the bell signaling the end of the third round.

I watched as the two fighters returned to their corners, Berwald breathing heavily and practically collapsing when he sat down on the stool provided to him. Alexianos, though most likely exhausted as well, refused to show it as much as Berwald was.

"Dear God, you were right, Tino… Alexianos was on the attack the majority of that round… How the hell are either of those two still standing?" I asked the Finn sitting beside me.

"This is what they train for… They've both got so much endurance… It's so hard to watch this… I know by the way they are fighting that this may very well be the last round for them…" He responded, worry clinging to his voice.

Once the break was over, the two fighters stood and the coaches and medical staff left the cage. The ref looked to Berwald and Alexianos, and then swung his hands down. The bell rung, thus the third round had started.

The two were obviously slower than they had been in the previous two rounds, but they weren't stopping. They teed off multiple times within the first two minutes of the round, reopening the cuts that had been temporarily sealed. So far, I'd say the round was even.

With one minute left, I noticed a change. Alexianos' hands were hanging low, and he was now showing his exhaustion. His punches had lost their incredible strength, but they were still landing. Berwald's feeble blocks weren't enough to stop even a near-pathetic one of Kirzigian's strikes.

But suddenly, like a bat out of hell, Kirzigian surged forward with a right straight. Berwald stumbled backwards as the shot connected, falling. He attempted to get up, but Alexianos come down with that heavy left hand right on the temple of the Swede. Berwald collapsed limply onto the mat, and Alexianos gave him one last parting shot before the referee jumped in and separated them.

Alexianos flexed his tired muscles and shouted in joy. Medical staff hurried in to check on Berwald, who was still lying limply on the ground. Some of the staff went and worked on sealing the cuts on Alexianos' face while a stretcher was brought in for Berwald.

"Oh my God…" I muttered, standing and watching as "The Beast" was loaded onto the stretcher and carted off out of the cage quickly. Alex stood by the referee, watching as well as Berwald was carried off. He now looked slightly worried, looking to one of the coaches nearby and talking to him. The coach exited the cage, hurrying after the medical staff that had taken Berwald.

Brian O'Keeffe stepped up and begun to speak. "And now, announcing the winner by knockout at two minutes, twenty seven seconds into the third round, and still the undefeated champion of the World-Class fighting League… Alexianos "One Man Army" Kirzigian!"

The crowd cheered loudly for what seemed like the thousandth time, and I stood.

"I'm going to head to the hospital, Tino. I want to check on Berwald." I told the Finnish man next to me.

"I'm going to stick around my husband for the rest of the night. I'll see you tomorrow morning at the café, alright?"

"Yeah. I'll see you." With that, I exited the stadium. I went out to my car and hopped in, nervous to find out what exactly happened to Berwald.

When I arrived at the hospital, there was already media present, hoarding around a doctor that was standing outside a closed door. I sifted through the journalists to get to a doctor and looked to him.

"What happened to Oxenstierna?" I questioned.

"I am not of liberty to discuss that information with the public." The middle-aged doctor responded.

"I'm not exactly the public. I'm Berwald's boyfriend." I replied.

"Alright… If you would step inside the room, please. I'll tell you." The doctor opened the door and walked in, and I followed. Once we were in, he shut the door behind me.

Berwald was lying in the hospital bed, the cuts on his face being cleaned and stitched by a young-looking nurse.

"Berwald received a severe concussion from what happened tonight. He may wake up soon, or he may not. According to the medical staff, they say that he took a hard shot to the head by the left hand of Alexianos Kirzigian. Correct?" The doctor explained.

"Yes… Is he going to be alright? I mean… He'll recover, right?"

"Yes, he'll likely recover. He's probably experience some symptoms like confusion, dizziness, troubles with balancing, sight and hearing problems… But they'll most likely go away with rest. This kind of trauma isn't the first of its kind here. It seems that every time Kirzigian has a fight, we end up with someone getting a concussion."

"Could I possibly stay here with him…?"

"No, we can't allow that. You may come tomorrow to visit him though. We may need to run a few tests, and get an MRI on his skull to make sure everything is alright. We know he has a concussion; we just need to make sure there's nothing more serious going on. Like hemorrhaging and such. Tomorrow you can come in. If he's asleep, don't disturb him though. He needs his rest."

"Alright. Thank you sir."

"You're welcome. Go on home and get yourself some rest; you need it about as much as he does, rookie." The doctor said, smirking slightly. I smiled slightly before exiting, sifting back through the media and heading out of the hospital.

When I got to my apartment, I sat on the couch in my living room and turned on the television. It was already on the WCFL's channel, and it was playing the post-fight conference for the Kirzigian-Oxenstierna fight. Alexianos was sitting in a chair with a few microphones in front of his face, talking.

"Berwald gave me a good challenge… How won the first round most definitely… I knew that I had to stay on my toes and keep on the attack if I was going to win. I tried to be unpredictable and throw a kick in there, but since I'm no good with kicking, I hit him where it hurts… When I get the chance to talk to him, I'm going to apologize for that."

"The second round was in my favor, and I knew it… Berwald was slowing down, though he still managed to endure quite a bit. In the third round… That's when I started really showing the fact that I was becoming exhausted. But once I realize, hey, this is do-or-die, the adrenaline renewed my strength and I knocked him out… I must apologize in advance for any damage I did to Berwald; I know that he is now in the hospital because of what I did…"

"Berwald is an amazing fighter, I must admit. He is so powerful, and his ground game is to be feared… But after a fourth loss to me, he'll be lucky to get another chance. If he does, I'll be ready. I'll always be ready for a good fight with "The Beast"."

With those words from Kirzigian, the conference was concluded. The camera followed Kirzigian as he stood from his chair and went over to the side of the stage, where Tino was awaiting him. They locked lips for a moment before exiting the building together. I switched off the television and leaned my head back with a sigh.

I closed my eyes, and was nearly asleep, when the loud ringing of my cell phone caused me to nearly jump out of my battered skin.

I dug the device out of my pocket and answered it.

"Hello?"

"_Hey Mathias; it's Eduard."_

"Hey. What's up?"

"_Not too much. I was wondering if you wanted to come over to my place for a little while. Hang out a bit. It's only nine-thirty; what do you say?"_

"I'll be there in a few minutes. I don't think I can sleep too well right now anyways."

"_Alright; I'll see you soon."_

"Yeah. See you." With that, I hung up. I hadn't even taken my shoes off, so all I had to do was get up and head out the door. I found that kind of hard to do though; I was so sore from my fight. After a few moments of indulging in my laziness, I brought it upon myself to stand and head back out to my car.

When I got to Eduard's place, he was sitting outside on the front porch of his ground-level apartment. I walked up with a smile on my bruised face.

"Hey there, rookie." Eduard greeted, standing and giving me a hug.

"It hasn't even been two hours since we last saw eachother and you miss me already?" I teased, laughing a bit.

"Oh shut up and get inside. I have someone who wants to meet you." He said, grinning as he walked in the door of the apartment.

"Someone who wants to meet me, huh?" I muttered, following.

"Mathias," Eduard sat on his couch next to a blonde-haired kid, who was probably older than he looked, and wrapped an arm around him. "This is Raivis; my boyfriend. He graduated high school last year, and is looking to be a fighter in the WCFL. He's stronger than he looks, trust me."

I smiled a bit at Raivis and offered my hand to the teen. He shook it with a surprisingly callused hand.

"So you're looking to be a fighter, eh? What're you good at?" I asked.

"I picked up kick boxing my freshman year. The guy who taught the classes said I was pretty good for my height and weight and that I could easily get into the WCFL if I had good connections. I watched the event tonight on the TV… Eduard had told me before that you were the guy who he helped train, and when I saw your fight… Man, that was pretty astounding." Raivis explained. He had an accent, similar to a Russian one.

"Thanks. You saw that Matthew Williams retired tonight. That means there's a spot open in the roster. I'll put in a good word about you to the chairman of the WCFL Lodovico Vargas."

"That'd be great if you'd do that for me. I don't really have any skill that can be put to use here in the United States other than fighting."

"Where are you from, Raivis? You're not Russian are you?"

"No, no… I'm not Russian. I'm Latvian. I grew up in Riga."

"Ah. Can I ask why you moved to the states?"

Raivis smiled a bit and looked to Eduard, then back to me. "Him."

"What's the story between you two?" I asked, sitting in a chair nearby.

"His family and my family are friends… We met a few years ago when he went to Latvia, but didn't really connect until what, last year?" Raivis explained.

"Now we're inseparable… He lives with me now." Eduard said, grinning and giving the Latvian a kiss on the temple.

"Aww. You two look so good together." I commented. Eduard chuckled a bit.

"You'll probably be seeing a lot of him and me now that he's decided he wants to get into fighting as a career."

"I'll be glad to give him a few pointers if he gets a contract with the WCFL."

"Sounds good, right Raivis?"

"Yeah. " The Latvian agreed.

"So how old are you, Raivis? You don't look a day over fifteen, but Eduard said that you graduated high school." I questioned.

"I'm eighteen. I'll be nineteen the 8th."

"Ah, so you've got a birthday coming up in a few days. Happy early birthday."

"Thanks."

"It's not a problem."

I hung out at Ed's apartment for about an hour before I said my goodbyes and headed home.

Tomorrow, I had a busy schedule. In the morning I was going to go to the cafe so I could say goodbye to Matt, who was leaving for Canada. I would later have a talk with Lodovico, and would have to talk with him also about my next contract.

I knew my next fight was not going to be easy one bit.

Little did I know, I was completely right.


	12. Emotional Concussions

In the morning of the day after the WCFL event, I had made my way to Tino's café to say my goodbyes to Matthew.

As I entered the small place, a few fighters were gathered at large table along with Tino. Matthew was sitting one the lap of a bruised up, worn-looking Russian that I recognized to be Ivan Braginski. I approached with a smile on my face, ignoring the slight glare I received from Ivan. He probably wasn't happy about me winning the fight between us.

"Morning Mathias." Matthew greeted, waving a bit to me.

"Morning." I replied, sitting in an open chair next to Alfred Jones, who had a soft smile on his face.

"How're you feeling? That fight last night was pretty…" The Canadian across from me trailed off.

"Brutal?" Alfred finished his sentence.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm alright I guess. My forehead hurts like hell… Your boyfriend cut me open real good last night." I told him. Matt chuckled a bit and kissed the cheek of the Russian he was sitting on.

"It's what he's good at... Maybe you two will fight again in the future. I'd like to see how a rematch goes."

"I assure you, the outcome will be different next time." Ivan commented, slight hostility in his voice.

"Ivan." Matt said, turning and looking to the older Russian.

"What?"

"That's enough."

"Enough of what, Matvey?"

"The hostility. You've lost fights before; this is no different from those."

Ivan scoffed a bit.

"S'il te plaît, mon russe; pour moi?"

The Russian man sighed a bit and wrapped his arms loosely around the waist of the younger Canadian, then placed a kiss on his exposed neck.

"Pour toi." Ivan muttered, holding Matthew close and placing a few more kisses to the skin of the other man.

"Dégoûtant..." Alfred grumbled, crossing his arms and looking away from his step-brother and the Canadian's lover.

"Alfred, s'il te plait; today is not the day to say something like that. I'm leaving for Montreal at noon, for Christ's sake. I don't think that last thing I want to hear from you is "dégoûtant"…" Matthew protested.

"Je suis désolé, mais content que vous avez trouvé loin de ce salaud." Alfred responded.

"Qu'est-ce? Alfred, il n'est pas un salaud! Il est ma fiancée!"

"Q… Qu'est-ce?" A shocked Alfred muttered.

"C'est exact. Ivan et moi allons nous marier."

"Anyone care to fill in the blanks here and translate?" I cut in; I, along with Tino and Lovino, was completely confused.

"You can't marry Ivan! That's just… That's just wrong, bro!" Alfred objected, standing from his seat. Ah. Now I knew what was going on.

"Why is that, Alfred? Are you jealous?" Ivan asked.

"You shut the fuck up, you crazy bastard! Why the hell would you want to marry a schizophrenic Russian, Matt? He'll kill you!"

Wait, Ivan had schizophrenia?

Matt stood with a heavy sigh. "For the last time, Alfred; Ivan is not schizophrenic! And who ever said that you had any choice in the matter of me marrying him anyways? He's all I have, if you haven't noticed."

"All you have? What about me?"

"You're my step-brother, Alfred. We're only related through mom. I hardly feel any connection with you because of that!"

"You never were close to mom. You probably didn't care when she died."

"What? Alfred, how could you say that? You know I cared about her!"

"Enough!" Tino cut in. "I won't tolerate you two arguing like this… God, you're worse than my parents. Alfred," The Finn turned to the American. "It's his choice if he wants to marry Ivan. If anything, be happy that he's found someone that he wants to be with for the rest of his life. Ivan loves him, and cares about his wellbeing. If there's anything better than that, I don't know of it."

"If you would like to solve this by different matters, we can go outside, Alfred." Ivan piped up, standing.

"Oh you bet your ass I'll fight you." Alfred replied, hopping over the table and getting in the face of the Russian.

"Hey! None of that in here." I loud voice piped up from the doorway. It was Alexianos.

The champion got in between the two, shoving them apart. Ivan scoffed.

"Alex, you didn't have to…" Tino muttered, trailing off.

"Of course the champion has to come in and be the hero. This isn't any of your business, Kirzigian." Ivan stated.

"It's in my husband's café, is it not? If you dare fight in here, I'm afraid I'll have to report it to not only Lodovico, but the authorities as well."

"You wouldn't dare call the cops on us, Alexianos." Alfred said, crossing his arms.

"If you want to take the risk, go ahead. You know the rules of the WCFL; anyone who fights outside of the WCFL's boundaries shall be stripped of their position in the roster and their contracts will be invalidated. So calm the hell down; I'm sure this isn't how Matthew wants to remember today."

Ivan sighed heavily. "I suppose so… But Alfred was the one to start this."

"It doesn't matter who started it. Either calm down and be civil, or I'll report you two to Lodovico for violating your official contracts."

"Since I don't think Ivan will be leaving my step-brother any time soon… I'll just leave. Make things easier on him. Matt, have fun up in Canada. Don't let that Russian bastard hold you back." With that offensive comment from Alfred, Ivan swung at the younger American. Alexianos promptly stepped in between the two again, placing a hard left punch to the right side of the attacking Russian, who collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. Alex then turned to Alfred.

"Leave, Alfred." He demanded. The American merely nodded in response and exited the café. Ivan, once he had regained his breath, stood and looked down.

"I… I am sorry." He said, turning and starting to walk out, but Matthew grabbed his arm and turned him around.

"Ivan… Please, you have to learn to control yourself… I-I know that you and my step-brother don't exactly get along… But how am I supposed to marry someone who always wants to fight…? I love you, mon russe… But I can't watch over you all the time to make sure you don't lose your temper… You don't have to defend me all the time, Ivan… I want you to come with me and live with me in Montreal but… How can I be sure that you won't get yourself arrested while I'm gone?"

"Matvey… I-I… I'm so sorry… I just… Alfred… H-He kept saying-"

"I know, I know… He's a moron when it comes to relationships… But believe me, Ivan. We belong together. Just leave for now, alright? Meet me at the airport in a half hour… I love you."

"I love you too…" The two shared a small kiss before Ivan turned and walked out. Matt sighed and returned to the table, running his hands through his hair.

"I'm so sorry that happened… He and my step-brother just don't get along at all… Alfred said too much, and I did too little to stop them from fighting…" He apologized.

"It's alright, Matt… Things happen." I commented.

"Yeah. I agree with Mathias; things like that happen too often." Lovino added.

"Alexianos, can I have a word with you for a moment?" Tino looked to the Armenian champion, who nodded slightly. Tino led the man over to the kitchen, and began to talk to him quietly in what I presumed was either Armenian or Finnish. It definitely wasn't a language I knew. They almost seemed to be arguing, Alexianos more than likely trying to defend his actions.

"… Can I ask why Ivan and Alfred don't get along much?" I questioned Matthew.

"It all started when I met Ivan… He and I just kind of got along. We started off as friends, you know? We sparred with eachother once or twice, and helped eachother out. Alfred just… Alfred said that he got bad vibes from Ivan, and that he wasn't good news… As I got closer to Ivan, I learned of a few critical things that made him so… off…"

"And those things are…?"

"Well, Ivan's parents were killed in a fire when he was young, and he was raised by his grandparents… They died only a month apart when he was just fifteen… Ivan suffers from varying degrees of mental disorders… PTSD from a near-death experience he went through at the age of seventeen, a sort of possessive disorder in which he feels an extreme urge to protect those he is close to… He's been falsely diagnosed with schizophrenia twice… some doctors believe he may also be Bi-Polar… All of these disorders Alfred found out about. Now he doesn't think I'm safe when I'm with Ivan."

"But Ivan just seems like a regular man. Minus the fact that he's kind of creepy, but he seems relatively normal." Lovino commented.

"Exactly. I mean, I've known Ivan for three years, and I've been his boyfriend for around a year and a half. I've only seen a few of his mental episodes from his PTSD, but he takes medications and hasn't had one in quite some time. He proposed to me, and I knew what I was getting into. I'm willing to be there for him if his symptoms arise… But Alfred still thinks that I'm not safe. It's just not right, you know? They fought once in an official match; Ivan won… I think that's also part of why Alfred is so hostile towards him. Ivan is the only man to have knocked Alfred out within the first round."

"So what're you going to do about yours and Ivan's marriage? I mean… You're moving hours upon hours away to Montreal. What is Ivan going to do?" I asked.

"Well, I'm not supposed to tell anyone this… But he said his next fight is going to be his last. Ever since he got injured and was forced to give up his title shot, he's been slowly spiraling downwards. He's going to move up to Montreal… We'll have a private wedding up there. I don't want it to be some big occasion; it's risky with Ivan's PTSD."

"What exactly happened to Ivan to give him that disorder?"

"Well… He doesn't like to tell anyone, but back when he was seventeen he was involved in a sort of street gang… He didn't really have anyone at the time, so the streets were his home and the gang was his family. He was attacked by a group of rival gang members. He nearly got beat to death even though there were a lot of people around. If he's stuck in a big crowd, it's as simple as hardly tapping his shoulder to set off his PTSD."

"How does he stand the arena when he fights then?"

"He knows that they aren't going to hurt him. He's in a cage, and there's only one man he has to fight. If he's just walking down the street and it's really crowded with people he doesn't know, that's when things will start to go wrong. Understand?"

"Yeah… Man, he's had a rough life. Do you know how he got into MMA?"

"Oui… He started getting into fighting after he recovered from his injuries when he was seventeen. He wanted to be able to defend himself from that ever happening again, you know? He learned boxing right off the-"

My cell phone ringing loudly cut Matthew off. I took the device out of my pocket.

"Ah, I have to take this. It's Tolvorn." I said, standing and walking a few feet away to answer the call from my coach. I brought the phone to my ear.

"Hey, what's up, coach?" I answered.

"_Morning Mathias. Listen, I need you to come down to Lodovico's office. He wants to talk to you."_

"Hey, what do you know; I was going to go talk to him after I was done here at Tino's café."

"_Well good. Then you can kill two birds with one stone. Now get over here before Lodovico gets impatient."_

"Can do. I'll be there in a few minutes." With that, I hung up. I then returned to the table.

"Well, I have to go. Apparently Lodovico wants to talk to me. Give me a hug, Matt. I'll miss you, you Canadian bastard." I said, chuckling a bit. Matt smiled and stood, rounding the table and giving me a big hug.

"Take care of yourself, alright rookie?"

"You got it. I'll have to head up to Montreal to visit sometime. Keep in touch."

"Alright. Bye Mathias." He let me go, and soon I was on my way to the WCFL offices.

When I arrived at the offices, Tolvorn was waiting for me outside Lodovico's. I approached him with my eyebrows raised.

"So Lodovico wants to talk to me?" I asked.

"Yep. Come on; I'm sure it's important." My coach responded, walking in the door. I followed him, shutting the door behind me. We sat in the chairs in front of Lodovico's desk, and the chairman looked to us with a grin on his face.

"4-0. Køhler, you have my attention. And you have the sponsors' attentions as well. We have here a list of fourteen sponsors who wish to endorse you." Lodovico slid a list on paper towards Tolvorn and I. My coach took it in his hand and looked it over.

"Dethroned King, MMA Blockade, Underdog Fight Gear, Pryde, Blood Fighter… These are some pretty big names on here. Put a few of these on your shorts and wear a shirt with one of the logos on it after your fights and you'll rake in at least 20,000 dollars a fight if you win." He explained.

"Wow…" Was all I could manage to say. 20,000 dollars for just signing some contracts with some sponsors and wearing their brands or logos on my person? Who could say no?

"For now, I'm going to let you choose seven sponsors to sign contracts with. We need you to choose a primary sponsor though; you'll have to wear a shirt of their brand at the end of the fight when you're standing with the ref. The other six sponsors' logos will go on your shorts." Lodovico explained.

"That's fine by me." I replied.

"Alright, I'll give you two days to get back to me about your sponsors." The chairman said. I nodded.

"Hey, I have a question, Lodovico."

"Yes, rookie?"

"Since Matthew retired, there's a spot open in the roster, right?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"Well, I have a suggestion for someone we should get in the cage."

"Ah, is that so? I'm always open to suggestions."

"There's a Latvian kick boxer I met yesterday. He seems pretty legit; he's pretty young compared to a lot of us, but he's set his mind on being a fighter."

"Really? Interesting… Why don't you have him come to my office; I'll get some information from him and see for myself if he's fit for that open spot in the WCFL."

"Do you have time today? I could make a phone call, and he'll be right over. He lives downtown."

"Why don't you call him right now? I have about two hours of time to kill before I have a meeting."

"Alright." I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Eduard's number. Hopefully he and Raivis were awake. I held the phone to my ear and waited out a few rings, before a groggy answer came.

"… _Halloo?" _Eduard picked up.

"Hey Ed. Did I wake you up?"

"_It's fine…" _He cleared his throat. _"So what do you need, Mathias?"_

"I'm in Lodovico's office talking. Told him about Raivis; he said he'd like to meet him today."

"_Huh…? Oh, that's great! What time did he want to meet him?"_

"He said that he has two hours to kill before he has to go to a meeting; so, as soon as possible would be an acceptable answer, I guess."

"_Alright. Give Raivis like a half hour and he'll be over to the office. I'm going to stay here and sleep some more…"_

"Alright. I'll talk to you later, Ed."

"_See you."_

I hung up the phone and put it in my pocket before looking to Lodovico.

"He'll be here in a half hour. Is that okay?" I asked.

"Yes, that's perfectly fine. Thank you, Mathias. Now is there anything else you would like to discuss? Paychecks or anything?"

"Well… Can I ask how much I made for the Braginski fight?"

"30,000. The money will be wired to your bank account tomorrow; I'm still working on collecting money from the sponsors of our other fighters… Kirzigian's got eighteen sponsors, each worth around eight-thousand… 144,000 dollars total from just the sponsors, then an additional 150,000 for the fight… The man is a millionaire, yet he hardly spends any of his money. It just collects dust in his account until he decides he wants to take some out… Which is rare. I don't understand that man; do you?"

"Not really."

Lodovico sighed and clicked a few things on his computer before looking back to me. "Alright… Well, thanks for setting up a meeting with that fighter and for discussion the sponsors with me, Køhler. You and your coach can head on out. Tomorrow I may have your next fight set up. "

"Alright. Thanks Lodovico." I replied, standing. Tolvorn stood as well and we headed out of the office. Once we were out, my coach patted my shoulder.

"I'll pick out the sponsors for you; I know what sponsors will give you the most money. I know for sure that Dethroned King as a primary sponsor will rake in a lot for you. Is that cool with you, Mathias?"

"Yeah, sure. Listen, I'm going to head off to the hospital to see Berwald. I'll talk to you later."

"Ah, you lover-boy you. I'll see you soon." He chuckled and waked off to a different office, most likely to meet up with another official about something. I walked out of the office building and headed to the hospital on foot.

When I arrived, I recognized the doctor from before and approached him. He looked to me with a smile on his face.

"I'm guessing you're here to see Berwald?" He asked.

"Yeah." I replied.

"Go on into his room; you remember where it is, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. If anyone asks why you're there, just say that Dr. Svetozar let you in."

"Svetozar? You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, I'm actually from Bulgaria. I've lived in the United States since I was very young, so I've lost my accent. You're the first person to ask me about that who isn't a coworker. Bravo to you, rookie."

"Haha, thanks. I'll probably see you often since I'm a fighter then, Dr. Svetozar?"

"Please, just call me Apostol, now that we're acquainted."

"Alright."

"Well, I better shut up now and let you see your boyfriend. Be on your way."

"Thanks doc." I said, heading off to Berwald's room.

When I entered, I noticed that the Swedish man was wide awake, staring out the large window to his left.

"Hey Berwald." I greeted, gaining the attention of "The Beast". He slowly turned his head to look at me and smiled slightly.

"Hej… How're y'?" He asked, speech quiet and slightly slurred, most likely a symptom arising from his concussion.

"Sore from my fight, but I'm otherwise okay." I replied, pulling up a chair to the side of his bed and sitting down.

"That's good t' hear… I'm glad y' won…"

"Thanks… Going 4-0 is tough. The pressure just gets worse and worse from here on out."

"I know how y' feel… I went 15-0 before Kirzigian beat m'… Broke m' streak… And h' continues t' prove that he's th' better fighter…"

"That was an amazing fight though, Berwald… Even though you lost, you did a great job… Showed me how strong you are, and how determined you were."

"But it wasn't enough… Mathias… That's th' fourth time I've lost t' him… Th' fourth fucking time that h' beat m'… I trained s' hard… All for nothing…"

"Don't beat yourself up about it, Berwald… You tried your hardest; I mean, it's a feat in itself that you've solidified yourself as the man who can only be defeated by the best of the best."

"Mathias, I don't think y' understand… That was m' last chance. Lodovico isn't going t' sign another fight between Kirzigian and I for another three years… I don't think I can g' three years without losing my rank in second place… I'll b' lucky t' fight him ever again…"

"Berwald… You shouldn't be thinking that way."

"What other way am I supposed t' think, Mathias? Y' don't know what it's like… t' just… lose one of th' greatest chances in your life…"

"Maybe I don't know that, but I do know one thing Berwald."

"And that is?"

"You may not be the champion of the WCFL, but you are champion of one thing."

"What?"

"My heart. Berwald, I can never stop thinking about you. We've gone on dates every Friday since our first date… I hate to say it, but I'm really attached to you. I feel very strongly for you."

"…" He chuckled a bit. "Prove it."

I smiled and stood, grabbing his callused hand with my own. I then leaned down and planted a deep kiss on lips of the older Swede. He seemed surprised at first, but as we separated a few moments later he smiled, cheeks tinted red. I sat back down, cheeks a similar color, with a grin on my face.

"That proof enough for you?" I asked.

"Mhm… If I didn't have a concussion I would ask t' get a bit more… "proof"… I'm afraid I'm supposed t' not move much…" He said, chuckling slightly.

"Why don't you try to rest, Berwald? The more rest you get, the quicker your concussion will heal."

"Ja… Will y' stay until I'm asleep?"

"Sure." I gently squeezed his hand and he smiled a bit. He let out a light sigh and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed and rather quickly "The Beast" was sound asleep.

I stood from the chair I was in and released his unmoving hand, leaning down and planting a soft kiss on his forehead. I smiled a bit; he looked so peaceful in his sleep. His normally stern features were tranquil, his intense blue eyes shut, and his abundance of muscles relaxed. I would have called it cute, but that was no way to describe a two-hundred sixteen pound, six-foot five-inch tall, former bodybuilder.

I turned and exited the room, heading out of the hospital. I glanced to my watch and sighed a bit. Matthew would be at the airport now, Raivis was most likely at Lodovico's office, and the café was probably no place to be due to the tension that had arisen earlier.

I pondered if I could call Eduard and see if he wanted to do anything, but he was probably still asleep if I knew my Estonian training partner correctly.

My choices were now narrowed down to either heading to the gym and doing a workout, or going home and being lazy all day.

I chose the latter of the two without much thought.


	13. Heart of The Beast

A week passed before Lodovico contacted Tolvorn and I about my next fight contract.

As we entered the office, my opponent and his coach were already waiting for us. I recognized him to be the rather legendary Andelko Begovich. I was slightly confused though; how far had this man dropped in ranks due his loss to Alexander Johansson?

"Good morning, Køhler. Have a seat here and we'll get this contract signed." Lodovico said with a smile, sliding a piece of paper to me as I sat down in one of the open chairs. I took a look at the contract for a moment before signing. Tolvorn actually took the time to read it, and raised his eyebrow slightly.

"Only three weeks of training?" He asked.

"Yes. Our next event is going to be one that'll come quickly. Can your fighter be ready by then, or do you want to wait for the event after this upcoming one?"

Tolvorn looked to me. "What do you think, Mathias?"

"I'll be ready. Just sign it Tolvorn; I trust that you and Eduard will train me well in such a short amount of time."

"Alright. If you say so, rookie." My coach signed the document and handed it to Lodovico, who slid the contract over to my opponent and his coach. The two signed without hesitation, and soon the document was shoved into a file where it would stay.

"Looks like we're set. Take a moment to get acquainted if you'd like. Then you can be on your way." Lodovico said.

Andelko and I stood along with our coaches. I turned to the Croatian man and offered my hand to him. He grasped it and nodded a bit to me.

"Good luck, Køhler. I hope you give me a good challenge." He said, a heavy accent clinging to his words.

"Yeah. Good luck to you too, Begovich." I replied. We took our hands back and Andelko and his coach left the room.

"Can I ask who in all is going to be on the card in three weeks?" I asked, turning to Lodovico.

"You and Begovich are the main event… Then there's a rematch between Lovino and Hector Fernandez, as well as a match between Nikodemos Antonov and Gilbert Beilschmidt. There's also Kirzigian and Adnan facing off once again… And then there's also a debut fight; Raivis Galante versus Ivan Braginski. Regardless of who wins that fight, Braginski informed me that it is going to be his last. Raivis seems promising; let's hope he can overcome such a large height difference… Poor kid is only five foot four. Braginski is nine inches taller, and has a serious weight advantage."

"That is going to be so one-sided, you have no idea…"

"I don't know. Raivis may win this one; he's so small compared to Ivan, he doesn't give too much for the Russian to punch."

"Man… Eduard will flip when he finds out Raivis is fighting Braginski…" I muttered.

"What?" Lodovico asked.

"Nothing. I guess I'll see you around, Lodovico."

"Alright. Good luck with your training, Mathias."

I left with my coach and ended up going straight to the gym across the street. Eduard was already waiting for us. Raivis was in the gym as well, but he was training with his coach.

"Hey Mathias." Eduard greeted with a smile.

"Hey." I responded. "You ready for some training?"

"Yeah. Who're you fighting?"

"It'll surprise you as much as it surprised me; Andelko Begovich."

"What? Man, that's pretty dangerous. Lodovico is really testing you now. Despite the fact that Andelko is losing his stride, he's still incredibly dangerous. He's a kick boxer and a Jiu-Jitsu fighter."

"Speaking of kick boxers, did Raivis tell you who he's fighting in his debut?"

"No. who is it?"

"Braginski."

Eduard's eyes went wide. "You're kidding, right?"

"No. I asked Lodovico about it. He told me."

"Why the hell would Raivis sign that contract? Ivan is so much larger compared to him… Mathias, I'll be right back. I have to go talk to Raivis about his debut…" Eduard hurried over to his Latvian boyfriend, and soon they were talking. Raivis had a smile on his face the entire time Eduard was basically freaking out; the kid seemed pretty confident that he could win.

When Eduard returned back to Tolvorn and I, he looked defeated.

"You know, Raivis has more ambition than I thought he did. He's got his mind set on his fight… I don't know if I can bring myself to even want to watch something that I know is going to be one-sided…"

"Hey, to get your mind off of Raivis, why don't we get to training?" Tolvorn piped up.

"Ah, yeah… Jiu-Jitsu training alright for today?"

"That's perfect. Can you remember the drills we did while training for Antonov? I want you to do those, except with a whole hell of a lot more effort. Begovich isn't "The Southern Slavic Legend" for nothing."

"Alright. Mathias, you better be ready for this." Eduard said. I chuckled a bit and pat his shoulder.

"I think I can handle it."

Six hours later, Tolvorn finally gave Eduard and I a break. We were both drenched in sweat and practically exhausted; I offered the Estonian a bottle of water from my duffel bag with a smile. He accepted it then took a long drink of it, while I focused on getting my shoes on.

"I think that's the longest amount of time we've trained before." He commented. I nodded.

"Six hours… Tolvorn wasn't kidding about this training. I'm going to be aching more than I've ever been tomorrow morning."

"Heh, no kidding… Speaking of tomorrow, guess what day it is."

"The eighth?"

"And the eighth is?"

I thought for a moment. "Oh! Raivis' nineteenth birthday!"

"Exactly. He and I are both taking the day off so we can spend some time together tomorrow. That means you won't have to do ground training."

"Ugh, but I'll have to do striking training."

"Lovino has his own training to do, so you'll have to do the striking with Tolvorn."

"Good… Then it'll be an easy day." 

He laughed a bit. "Probably. "The Protagonist" has turned into an old man over the years. He was a pretty good fighter back in his day, but that was quite some time ago."

"You know, I can hear you two." Tolvorn piped up from nearby.

"Oh come on, you know it's true." I said, laughing a bit.

"Do you want to train for another two hours?" He asked, smirking a bit.

"Uh, no."

"Good. Then you'll shut your trap, rookie. And you too, Eduard. Just because I am old, doesn't mean I can't put up a good fight anymore. I'm going to train you with striking tomorrow; though I wasn't a kick boxer back in my day, I can still kick you in the head."

"Gotcha."

"Alright. Well, you two can head on out if you'd like. Or you can stick around. I don't really care; I'm heading home. I'll see you tomorrow, Mathias." With that, my coach made his exit.

"I'm guessing you're going to stick around and wait for Raivis?" I asked Eduard.

"Yeah. You can head home." He replied.

"Alright. I'll see you, what, Thursday?"

"Yep."

"Alright. See you then." I followed in the steps of my coach, leaving the building. I decided to stop by the café to see how things were going, but when I got to the place, it was kind of surprising.

Alexianos and his husband were arguing once again, this time in English. I stood by the door, listening. The two didn't even notice me walk in.

"It's harder than you know to watch you fucking do this to yourself, Alex! You train day in and day out; you fight one night, and then you rest the next couple of days before you're back at training! I hardly ever get to see you!" Tino's voice was surprisingly malicious, but Alexianos sounded the same.

"Don't you understand a fucking thing I've been trying to tell you for weeks? Jan, this is my job! This is all I know! I hardly made it through high school, and never went to college! If I stop fighting, I won't be able to get another job!"

"Alex, you're a fucking millionaire! You don't need another job! You have enough money to retire; you've had enough ever since we get married! I don't understand why the hell you're still in the WCFL; you told me that forty wins was enough for you! You told me that you would retire after you fought Berwald!"

"Is it wrong for me to like my job? Is it a crime or something; against your morals or some other fucking thing in your mind? If you can't remember, I'm under contract! I can't violate that!"

"Alexianos, you've brought fighting outside of the octagon! That's a violation of your contract! You punched Ivan in the side yesterday after threatening to report them to Lodovico for violating their contracts! You're a hypocrite!"

"Tino, you know I only wanted to stop them from damaging our property!"

"You broke three of Ivan's ribs with that punch, Alexianos! He went to the hospital after he said goodbye to his fiancée and had to have surgery! That'll put him out of training for the three weeks he has left in the WCFL! He'll have to fight with no training!"

"So what? Maybe I don't know my own strength!"

"Alex, you damn well know that you can kill someone easily with that left hand of yours! You have to stop fighting, or I'll…"

"Or you'll do what?"

"I'll file for divorce."

"You wouldn't dare! Not after all we've been through together!"

"Together? Oh please, Alexianos; we're hardly ever together! I spend every waking hour worrying for your wellbeing while you're either killing yourself with training or fighting, or sleeping the day away because you're too fucking tired and sore to do shit!"

"I warned you about hat before we even got married Tino; I'm a fighter! I told you I wouldn't have much time to spend with you!"

"But can't you stop training for a week or something? Would it really hinder your capabilities that substantially that you can't even take the time off for your husband?"

"Every second of training makes a difference, Tino! You know that!"

"Alexianos, please… I'm begging you; make your next fight your last. It'll be the only thing I'll ever ask of you."

"Let me go through a few more fights; I'll make you a deal. If I don't retire my forty-fifth fight, you can file for divorce and I'll leave you alone."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes. Jan, I never like arguing with you about such things as this. I want it to stop, but every word you say… Must you worry so much about me? Tino, I love you to no end… But you don't need to worry so much."

"I won't stop worrying until you retire, Alexianos. Every fight… You're fighting Sadik again in three weeks… He nearly broke your arm last time you two fought."

"I won't let him get me to the ground like he did before…"

"He's still dangerous on his feet though."

"I know… But I'm not 40-0 for nothing."

"Will you at least spend tomorrow off before you start training really hard?"

"For your sake, yes."

The two shared a tender moment standing there in the middle of the café, but I cleared my throat and caught both of their attentions.

"Oh my God, Mathias. How long have you been standing there?" Tino questioned, face turning red in embarrassment.

"A few minutes now…" I replied.

"I am so sorry you had to hear all that… Alex and I… We've just been having some problems…"

"I can tell… I, uh, guess I'll get going. See you two later."

"Yeah… Again, I'm sorry about that…"

"It's okay. I just walked in at the wrong time… See you guys." With that, I made a somewhat hasty exit from the awkward situation.

I took a look at my watch as I walked down the sidewalk then sighed a bit. It was only five in the afternoon. A buzzing from my pocket caught my attention, and I realized that my cell phone was ringing. I dug the device out of my pocket and looked at the screen, smiling when I realized that it was Berwald calling me. I brought my phone to my ear and answered the call.

"Hej Berwald."

"_Hej. How're y' doing?"_

"I'm alright. Tolvorn trained the hell out of me today though."

"_I know how that feels. Who're y' training t' fight?"_

"Begovich. Surprising, huh?"

"_Yeah, that is surprising… I think Lodovico is really taking y' seriously now."_

"I would hope so. Going 4-0 isn't exactly easy."

"_I know that for sure."_

"So how're you doing, Berwald? Your head healed up yet?"

"_It is, actually. I've made a good recovery. I'm not training yet, but I'm thinking by next week I'll feel in top shape. Enough t' get a contract out of Lodovico."_

"Who do you think you'll fight?"

"_Alexander Johansson, probably. He's got just about th' best chance of fighting m' out of th' majority of th' fighters up in th' ranks."_

"Yeah… So why did you call? I know it wasn't just to chat."

"_Well, I was wondering if you'd like t' come over t' m' place. Maybe have dinner?"_

"Yeah, sure. That sounds great."

"_D' y' remember m' address?"_

"Yeah. I'll be there soon."

"_Alright. I'll see y' when y' get here."_

"Yeah. See you, Berwald." I hung up the phone with a smile on my face. Ah, Berwald. Such a unique man.

I made my way to the Swedish man's house, which was a nice little place at the edge of town. It was a long walk to get there, but it was worth it.

I walked up to the front door of Berwald's house, making my way up the steps of his porch and knocking on the front door. I had been here before, but I hadn't been inside. He and I had just hung out on the porch a few weeks back, which was why I knew where this place was.

Berwald soon answered the door, smiling slightly.

"Come on in." He said, opening the door wider so that I could walk in. Once I was in, I was greeted by a very homely-looking place.

To my left was a separate room that looked to be a study of sorts, with a desk, a laptop, a reclining chair, and a rather large bookshelf against the wall. In front of me was obviously the living room of the place, with a flat-screen television sitting on a stand. In the corner of the room beside a comfortable-looking couch was a rather expensive-looking stereo system. On the walls were pictures hung as well as a tattered Swedish flag.

"You have a nice place." I told Berwald as he shut the door.

"I guess. I made some potato casserole earlier today if y' would like some. I'm sure that you're hungry after training today." The Swede informed me, heading to his dining room. I followed.

"You know by experience how much training gives a fighter an appetite. I did six hours of nearly nonstop Jiu-Jitsu training today." I replied as I sat at his dining room table.

"Six hours? Tolvorn's working y' as much as I d' whenever I train on a normal day." He commented as he got a plate out of one of the cabinets in his kitchen.

"You train six hours a day when you're training to fight someone?"

"Ten hours when it's Kirzigian."

"You overwork yourself, Berwald."

He shrugged a bit. "I'm used t' it."

"How long have you been in the WCFL again?"

"Had m' first official fight when I was nineteen. I came into th' WCFL right after Kirzigian did."

"And you're twenty-nine now, correct?"

"Yeah… Going on thirty next year." He said as he set a plate of casserole in front of me, along with a fork.

"Thanks." I stated before continuing our conversation. "I find it hard to believe that you're that much older than me. I mean, I'm twenty-three. That's a six year difference between us."

"It's not exactly a bad thing. Age is but a number." He replied, sitting down in the chair to the left of me.

"Yeah, true. So I noticed you have quite a few books in that study of yours. You read a lot?" I asked before starting to eat. The food that Berwald had made was rather tasty; I assumed it was a Swedish recipe. It had a taste similar to that of many Scandinavian foods.

"I read when I can… Usually non-fiction. Historical sometimes. I'm actually writing an autobiography about m' life and m' career right now. Antonio told m' it would b' good t' let th' fans know that I haven't had a perfect life. Just t' show that even people who don't have a lot and don't have such nice pasts can still succeed."

"That's cool. So how is Antonio doing as a coach?"

"He's pretty good… Not disappointed at all that I lost t' Kirzigian. He's a very positive man. He's rubbed off on m' quite a bit, y' know? It's almost infectious. Once y' get in his presence, there's just n' escaping his cheerfulness."

"He ever serious?"

"H' can b' when h' needs t' b'. Like when he's at ringside telling m' what I should d', that's when he's very serious."

"That's reasonable."

"Ja… What about Tolvorn? How's h' as a coach? I mean, I know him as an acquaintance, but I don't really know what he's like as a coach."

"Well… He's kind of a youthful guy stuck in a not-so youthful body. He knows he's getting up in years and isn't afraid to say so, but he loves to turn whatever fun we poke at him into an excuse to do more training. Usually he just jokes around, but he's serious sometimes. When I'm fighting, he cheers me on and really helps me get my bearings. He warns me about things a lot. When I was fighting Matthew Williams and got kicked in the head, he warned me to watch out. He likes to make sure I stick to a game plan… Though I usually don't end up winning as planned. My four knockout victories actually weren't supposed to be all knockouts."

"I never really have much of a game plan when I go in and fight. I just d' what's comfortable. I like t' g' t' th' ground and knock them out or force a submission. M' standup isn't quite as good as m' ground fighting, as you've probably seen."

"Yeah. You use your size against your opponents a lot, don't you?"

"Ja. Speaking of size, I've noticed that you've been losing weight steadily through each fight. Y' used t' weigh over two-hundred, now you're what, one-ninety?"

"Training so much has dropped my weight. Tolvorn wants me to drop another ten pounds before my next fight. Weight cuts suck."

"I know what that's like… Back when I first came into th' WCFL, I weighed two-hundred thirty-five pounds. Within six weeks, I was down t' two-twenty. M' coach had m' d' a fifteen pound weight cut, and damn did it affect m'. Even though it was just fifteen pounds that I lost, it was kind of hard t' try t' maintain a weight like that."

"I remember that when you fought Kirzigian, you weighed two-sixteen. Still losing weight?"

"That was just weight that I lost from training s' much t' fight Kirzigian. Predictably I'll gain back those few pounds I lost."

"I'll repeat, Berwald. You overwork yourself."

A half hour passed and Berwald and I found ourselves in his living room. I was standing up, looking closely at photographs hung upon the walls. I noticed one that looked to be of a scraggly-looking middle-aged man and a young boy that resembled Berwald, both sitting on a bench in what was ost likely Sweden.

"Was this your father?" I questioned. Berwald walked over to me and sighed a bit.

"Yeah… That was him… I was eight in that picture… Long time ago, hm?" He replied.

"Yeah… Twenty-one years, right?"

"Ja. Twenty-one years… I still miss him. That was th' last picture w' ever got of us together. W' never bothered t' take a lot of pictures… Now I kind of wish w' did."

"I feel for you, Berwald… You must have been a brave kid, having to deal with an alcoholic father and not having a mother. Must've matured quickly."

"Yeah… I did. I regret s' much from back then; I loved m' father… But I don't think h' knew that." It sounded as if Berwald could hardly get the words out of his mouth when he spoke. I turned my head to look at the taller Swede, and noticed he was staring somberly at the picture, bottom lip quivering, callused hand braced up against the wall. I saw small lines of wetness on his cheeks, then realized, just a few words about his father had made "The Beast" start to _cry._

I gently placed a hand on his back as he took off his glasses, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I-I'm sorry… I just…" Berwald tried to explain his emotion, but he needed no explanation for this.

"It's alright, Berwald… It's not your fault that he's gone." I said quietly. Berwald sighed shakily then went over to the couch, sitting down and burying his slightly-bruised face in his hands. I followed, sitting next to him. I then wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders, almost immediately the Swede turned to me and hugged me tightly, face resting on my shoulder.

"Th-There's n' feeling like it, Mathias… I-I never told him that I cared; never told him anything... Wh-Why was I s' stupid as to not let him know that I loved him? Why did I have t' b' s' silent?"

"Berwald… It's not your fault... You didn't know what he would do… You didn't know that he would kill himself… You can't blame anything on yourself…"

"But I d', Mathias… I-I…" His hands clutched the fabric of my shirt tightly, and he struggled to form coherent sentences.

"Shh… Relax Berwald… Relax…" I whispered softly, rubbing the back of the older man in gentle circles in an attempt to calm him. After a few moments, he managed to half-compose himself. I planted a light kiss into the light blonde hair on the head of "The Beast" as he unwrapped his arms from around me.

"Thanks, Mathias… I just… It's hard, y' know…?" His voice was quiet. I smiled a bit at him.

"It's not a problem… I care so much about you, Berwald… I'd do just about anything for you."

He placed a chaste kiss on my lips then smiled. "I'd d' th' same… You're a nice guy, Mathias… I really… I really enjoy being with y'. You're just… You're different than a lot of guys. Y' actually try t' help m'… That's all I could ever ask of y'."

"I just do it out of common courtesy… You can't always be the tough "Beast" you're known to be… I respect the side of you that you show outside of the cage… It's the side most worth knowing about. You're a unique guy, Berwald. Whoever thought that I'd end up with a man like you. Me; a regular Danish nobody, and you, an amazing Swedish WCFL fighter with a heart like no other…"

"Mathias… Can I… Can I tell y' something?"

"Sure."

"I… I think I may b' in love with y'."

"No kidding?"

"N' kidding… I just… I really feel that strongly for y'… I know it hasn't been that long since w' started dating but… I just want y' t' know, even if you're not ready t' say it back."

I smiled and answered him with not words, but a deep kiss on the lips. When we separated, I pressed my forehead to his.

"I think I may love you too, Berwald…. I think I may love you too."


	14. Køhler vs Begovich

Three weeks passed in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. For the fifth time in my career, I was awaiting my turn to step out into the arena and be locked inside the octagonal cage in the center.

I had trained hard for this fight, and I was assuming my opponent had as well. I found it hard to believe that my fight was the main event of the night, but then again, I didn't. I was fighting "The Southern Slavic Legend" Andelko Begovich in what was most likely one of the most important fights of my career yet. This fight; this would show that I could fight anyone. Even the most legendary of fighters.

Tolvorn entered the locker room and I looked to him. He had a half-grin on his face as he placed both hands on my bare shoulders.

"You ready for this fight, rookie?" He asked.

"Yeah." I replied. "You and Ed trained me; how could I not be ready?"

He laughed a bit. "Good point. We have about three minutes before you can head out; Gilbert Beilschmidt just won his fight against Nikodemos Antonov." He sighed before continuing. "I'm proud of you, kid. 4-0, and you're fighting a legend… You're really proving yourself to everyone; me, Lodovico, the fans… Everyone. Let's get in there and win. Let's get this record to be 5-0."

I smiled and nodded my head in agreement. After a few moments, a staff member poked his head in the door and told us it was time to go. I grabbed my mouth guard and slipped it into place, walking out followed closely by my coach. I exited the tunnel and the crowd cheered; my name was known. I was Mathias "The Rookie" Køhler. I had a decent fan-base now.

My bearded opponent was waiting in the cage already, wearing those tight mid-thigh length shorts. He had a brace on his right ankle and knee, signaling to me that he had done something to his leg for it to need support.

I stood in my corner, and within moments Brian O'Keeffe stepped up to the center of the mat and began to announce the fight.

"And now, our main event of the evening… Introducing first," Brian motioned to me.

"Fighting out of the red corner with a record of 4-0, this man is a Generalist, fighting out of Copenhagen, Denmark… Standing at six feet tall, weighing one-hundred eighty-three pounds… He is "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

The crowd cheered for a little bit before dying down for the introduction of my legendary opponent.

"And now, introducing second, fighting out of the blue corner with a record of 36-7, this man is a kick boxer and a Jiu-Jitsu fighter, fighting out of Vukovar, Croatia… Standing at six feet tall, weighing one-hundred ninety-five pounds… He is "The Southern Slavic Legend" Andelko Begovich!"

The crowd erupted into a cheer for the Croatian, which I expected. The guy was legendary.

As the media and coaches exited the cage, I looked to my opponent. He wasn't exactly the most muscular man, but I knew that he could dish out quite a beating. His thighs and calves were about the most muscular part on him, showing that he was in fact a kick boxer.

Once the referee, my opponent, and I remained in the cage, things were set to begin the fight. The ref looked to each of us, asking if we were ready; we both nodded and with that the ref swung his arms down.

"Let's get it on!" The bell was rung and the first round officially began. My game plan for this fight was to keep things stood up, but to avoid his kicks. Punches I could take, but I had to watch out for those kicks. Andelko Begovich was legendary for a reason; twenty-nine of his thirty-six wins were from right or left head kick knockouts. The rest were submission wins.

Begovich and I circled eachother in our stances; his unique kick boxing stance, and my own casual stance that had been dubbed a brawling stance. He made a movement like he was going to kick and I slid back slightly. It was merely a feint attack though. He did it again, faking me out once more, but this time he raised his leading foot after the fake out and dug a hard push kick into my stomach.

"Stay on your toes, Mathias!" Tolvorn shouted from my corner as I stepped away from Begovich in order to prevent a second hit from being attempted.

My opponent switched his lead foot then went for an axe kick, surprisingly being able to lift his leg above my head and come down with his heel on the top of my head. It stunned me and I fell down to one knee, only to receive a hard uppercut to the chin from my opponent. I tried to stand up, but now Begovich was on the attack. He slammed his right foot into my side, knocking the wind out of me.

I fell onto my back, and soon found the one-hundred ninety-five pound man on top of me in side mount. He used his knees to heavily punish my left side, and I struggled to regain my breath. I managed to block an attempted transition to full mount, but he just continued to beat down my body with his strong legs.

He soon grabbed my right arm, attempting to lock in a shoulder submission, but I escaped it and managed to shove him off of me, getting to my feet.

"That a boy Mathias; stand on up." I heard Tolvorn say. I stared at Begovich, trying to predict his next move. He faked me out a few times before going for another side kick, which I attempted to block. It was a futile attempt and his foot connected with my already hurting left side. I tensed up in an effort to absorb the hit, but it didn't do anything by give him a chance to strike once more.

He spun around on his front foot and pounded his hand on my head with a spinning backfist, which knocked me down. He got down on top of me and positioned himself in my guard. I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his head down to my chest in a try to keep him from transitioning.

I thought for split second of my training, and then lifted my foot onto his opposite shoulder from over his back, grabbing it with my hand. From there, I brought my other leg out from under me and lifted it up onto his shoulder. I was setting up for a triangle choke. But my Jiu-Jitsu skills, despite my training, were not able to match his. He easily escaped my set up, and stood.

I got up as well; guard low to protect my sides. His kicks were beating the hell out of me. I knew so far, this round was all his.

We circled for a few moments before he launched a right head kick at me. I successfully blocked, an even threw a few counter punches to his head; all of which landed. He didn't seem deterred by the few strikes whatsoever and struck back with yet another side kick, followed by an inside thigh kick with his other leg. I cringed in pain, backing away to attempt to save myself some time to recover from the hard hit.

Finally, after three minutes of hell, the bell rung and I returned to my corner. I sat in the stool provided by my coach, and he looked to me.

"You're doing good, alright? You just have to stay ready. You've got this, Mathias. You know what you're doing. Begovich is wearing himself out with all these heavy shots; they're spending his energy quickly." He said as medical staff placed a bag of ice on my side. They took it off for a moment to readjust it, and I glanced down to the bruise, only to be slightly horrified. It was foot-shaped. I had a foot-shaped bruise on my side.

"Just stay on your toes; when you block, I need you to counter. Nothing too big, alright? Just quick punches; tag him good. Try to cut him open if you can, but don't waste your energy. I need movement, Mathias. You're circling, but you aren't moving quickly enough; you're giving him chances to strike. Stay on your toes, and keep him from landing any head kicks. You can endure the side kicks and the leg kicks. Let me see your leg."

I grabbed the fabric of my shorts and pulled them up to reveal a heavy bruise. It hurt; that's about all I could say about it.

"That's nothing, Mathias; you'll be fine. Just don't let him kick you there too many times; he's targeting dangerous areas. Got it?"

I nodded.

"Good. Now get in there and do what you do best." With those words from my coach, I stood. The medical staff and Tolvorn exited the cage, taking the stool with them. Begovich was ready in his corner as well, and soon the bell was rung to signal the second round.

We approached eachother cautiously, but Begovich put a fist up for me to pound as a show of respect between us. I nodded a bit and pounded fists with the older Croatian. We both stepped back a bit before beginning to circle eachother once again.

My adversary attempted to hit me with another inside thigh kick, but I slid away just enough for him to miss. What I didn't expect was for him to place that foot down and spin around, slamming the heel of his opposite leg into the right side of my ribcage. I felt something crack and cringed in pain, backing away.

"You're alright, Mathias! Shake it off!" Tolvorn shouted; he must've known something was wrong.

With shaky hands, I guarded a side kick from my opponent. While his leg was still up, I grabbed it and shoved him up against the cage, holding his leg up to my side and keeping him off balance. With my free arm, I tossed multiple elbow shots to his face. When I felt something dripping down my elbow, I knew I had cut him open. He made an attempt to guard his face, and while his arms were occupied, I shifted my weight and grabbed his other leg, taking him down with ease.

I was now in his guard, and soon transitioned to half-guard, and then managed to get to side mount, where I continued to punish his bleeding head with elbows and hammerfists.

He, in an effort to defend himself, rolled over onto his hands and knees and tried to escape, but after a slight scuffle on the ground, I found myself positioned on front of him, with the back of his head on my chest. I had my arms wrapped around him from both sides just under his arms, and it gave me a moment to think. I then remembered a difficult chokehold Eduard had taught me. The D'Arce Choke.

I brought one arm under his chin, grabbing my other arm and tightening the hold. It must've surprised Begovich, because I got it locked in quickly. After a few moments of being choked, the man under me went limp, and the ref jumped in, getting me off him. I jumped up and raised my arms in the air, shouting in elation. I had just won a submission victory, courtesy of my training partner Eduard Von Bock.

Media and staff hurried in, medical staff hurrying in to check on the unconscious Begovich, while the media took pictures of me and the man on the ground. I posed for a few and Tolvorn tossed me my primary sponsor's shirt. I slipped it on then stood at the center of the mat with the ref. Begovich, still unconscious, was unable to get on the other side of the referee.

Brian O'Keeffe stepped up and begun to speak.

"And now, announcing the winner by D'Arce Choke at one minute, thirty-two seconds into the second round… "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

The crowd cheered loudly for me, and my hand was raised by the ref. I couldn't stop grinning. When my wrist was released I turned around, and I bumped into the man who I had just submitted. He looked a bit woozy, but was smiling at me. He offered his gloved hand to me, and I clasped it, shaking it firmly. He pulled me into a hug to speak in my ear.

"You're good, rookie. You have heart and skill far beyond what I expected… Enjoy your victory, but get your ribs checked out. I felt that crack when I kicked you."

"Yeah, I know you did something." I said. "You're a great kick boxer. Great Jiu-Jitsu practitioner too. You planning on staying in the league a while longer? I want to fight you again someday."

"I'm going to be here for a while yet, Køhler. When we do fight again, I'll be ready. Now go on and get yourself checked out. I'll see you around."

With that, we separated, heading to our respective locker rooms. I got changed, and was lead to the WCFL Center's infirmary, where an x-ray of my chest was taken. As it turned out, two of my ribs were fractured.

The doctor taking care of me was a Dutch man everyone knew as Dr. Bartholomues, or for short. Dr. Bart. The doctor sighed a bit and read a clipboard before looking to me.

"Well, you're going to need surgery. The fractures could possibly become breaks very easily; you'll need to have metal plates and screws put in. The surgery is affordable for you, since you make quite a bit of money, but it'll put you out of training for a few weeks. That area will also be able to be easily injured again, but you'll be able to fight after a while. I'll send a notice to the surgeons at the hospital, and they'll be ready for the surgery by tomorrow morning. Is that alright for you?" He questioned.

"Yeah, it's alright. How long will I be in the hospital after the surgery?"

"A day or two while you recover from the anesthetics and they see how your body reacts to the metal plates. That's alright with you as well, I'm assuming?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll let you be on your way now. Be at the hospital at eight-thirty in the morning; they should be ready for you by then. Good luck and I hope you recover well."

"Thanks Dr. Bart."

"It's not a problem, Køhler."

I stood from the hospital bed that was in the infirmary and walked out with Tolvorn. He looked to me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"At least you'll be able to fight again once you recover. I know so many retired fighters who had to end their careers short because of similar injuries. You know Ivan Braginski's ribs were broke a few weeks back, and he's fighting tonight after having just recovered. He had a similar surgery to the one you're going to have, minus the fact that his was more extensive."

"When I get home I'm going to watch the rest of the fights on television. I have to watch Raivis' debut, and a Kirzigian fight is always worth watching."

"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow before your surgery, alright? I'll meet you at the hospital."

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, coach."

We went our separate ways, and I headed to my apartment. Once I got there, I took some painkillers then sprawled out on the couch, flipping on the TV. On the screen, Brian O'Keeffe had just started to announce the Galante-Braginski fight.

"_And now, a debut fight… Introducing first, fighting out of the red corner in his first professional bout… This man is a kick boxer, fighting out of Riga, Latvia, standing at five feet four inches tall, weighing in at one-hundred twenty-nine pounds, Raivis Galante!"_

The crowd cheered only slightly for the Latvian, which was expected. Raivis, the nineteen year old kick boxer, was wearing a pair of black and white shorts, striped horizontally. He was more muscular than I had predicted, with a defined abdomen and chest. His legs looked strong, as did his arms. This kid was built for fighting.

The camera panned over to Braginski as Brian started to announce his stats.

"_Introducing second in his final WCFL bout, fighting out of the blue corner with a record of 23-12…_ _This man is a boxer, fighting out of Volgograd, Russia… Standing at six feet three inches tall, weighing in at two-hundred seven pounds… he is Ivan "Heartless" Braginski!"_

The crowd cheered rather loudly for the Russian man. He was wearing a pair of white board shorts, with the words "_Pour vous, je vis." _on both sides. The commentators spoke about Ivan as the media and coaches cleared the ring.

"_This is an odd fight; both a debut and a retirement fight. Not to mention, there's such a height and weight difference, along with their conditions." _One said.

"_Yeah, there is. Braginski hasn't trained at all for this fight; he was too busy recovering from a scuffle he got into that landed him in the hospital for broken ribs. He had a surgery; you can see exactly where the incision was made. He's obviously weakened by what happened, which gives Galante that much of an advantage over him." _ The other explained.

Soon the two fighters were ready, and the fight was started just as any other. Raivis and Ivan circled eachother for a few moments, Ivan obviously slower than his Latvian opponent.

Raivis was the first one to throw a strike, aiming a kick at the outside of Ivan's lead leg. The Russian merely absorbed the hit, and then went for a heavy uppercut to the shorter man. Raivis leaned backwards and the shot missed, giving him an opportunity to strike. He slid forward and placed a punch to the area of Ivan's ribs when they had been broken previously.

Ivan cringed and backed up, letting out a heavy breath. His guard dropped for a only a few seconds, but Raivis was quick enough to take advantage of that. Despite the height difference between them, Raivis was able to graze Ivan's chin with a right head kick. The shot was ineffective since Raivis' toes barely grazed the Russian man's skin. While the Latvian was off balance form the miss, Ivan took the opportunity to surge forward and place many heavy shots to Raivis' head.

Raivis stumbled backwards, but recover in time to duck away from a few more shots. He got close to Ivan, and got into the clinch, which was a bad choice. Ivan merely wrapped his arms around the younger Latvian and lifted him off the ground, spinning on a heel and slamming the one-hundred twenty-nine pound fighter on the ground. Ivan transitioned to full mount, and now placed all of his weight on Raivis' abdomen. That was now just over two hundred pounds on the stomach of the nineteen year old.

Ivan used his elbows like he always did and brought them down over and over, one after the other on Raivis' face. Raivis made attempts to guard and surprised Ivan by capturing on of his large arms in his hands then trying for a keylock submission, also known as the americana.

To my surprise, it was locked in and Ivan tapped. He rolled off Raivis, clutching his shoulder. Raivis stood and threw his arms up in the air, grinning and shouting in what I presumed was Latvian. I smiled; the kid had won his debut with a rather stunning submission victory.

After a few minutes, Raivis and Ivan were standing in the center with the referee. Brian O'Keeffe stepped up and began to announce Raivis' victory.

"_And now, announcing the winner by Americana submission at one minute, fifty-seven seconds of the first round… Raivis Galante!"_

The crowd cheered, now a bit louder, for the Latvian. After a few moments, the microphone was given to Ivan so that he could announce his retirement.

"_Ladies and gentlemen…" _He started. _"I have fought long and hard in the World-Class Fighting League… I have given you plenty of good shows, and have proved that I am a good fighter… But I have lost my stride, and I know now it is time to welcome the new generation of fighters with open arms. I am retiring tonight not due to my injury I sustained from my fight with Mathias Køhler, but for the man I care so much about."_

"_My fiancée recently retired as well; in honor of him and the promise I made to him, I wore shorts sporting the French phrase "Pour vous, je vis." Meaning "for you, I live."… It is true in so many ways. I love fighting here in the WCFL, and I love all the fans and people associated with the league, but my fiancée is who I love more… I retire with no regrets. I hope the fighters that come into the league after me succeed in what they do, and bring new light and skill to the competition. Thank you, everyone."_

The crowd let out a thunderous cheer for "Heartless" Braginski, and he exited the cage with a fist raised. I couldn't help but smile; Matthew and Ivan were now both retired, and were going to be able to live their lives without the strain of training and fighting. It was great to have seen the two walk out of that cage with no regrets.

After a commercial break, the next and final fight was set to begin. Kirzigian versus Adnan; a championship bout. Brian O'Keeffe stepped up into the center of the mat once again to introduce the fighters.

"_And now, our final fight of the night; this is a championship bout… Introducing first," _He motioned to Sadik Adnan.

"_Fighting out of the red corner with a record of 57-15, this man is a boxer and a jiu-jitsu fighter… Fighting out of Ankara, Turkey, standing at five feet eleven inches tall, weight one-hundred seventy-two pounds, he is the challenger… "The Veteran" Sadik Adnan!"_

The crowd cheered for the tan-skinned man, who was strongly built and had stubble along his jaw. His ears were heavily cauliflowered, showing that he in fact was "The Veteran". He had been around since the start of the WCFL after all. The Turk stepped forward and did a sort of bow to his opponent in the other corner, then stepped back, brushing his hands on his olive-green shorts to rid them of what was most likely sweat. I could tell Sadik was nervous about this fight; Alexianos had been the one to take the championship from him so long ago.

The camera panned over to the well-known champion as the crowd died down.

"_Introducing second, fighting out of the blue corner, with a record of 40-0, this man is a boxer and a wrestler, fighting out of Vagharshapat, Armenia… Standing at five-foot six-inches tall, weighing one-hundred sixty-seven pounds, he is the reigning, defending World-Class Fighting League champion… Alexianos "One Man Army" Kirzigian!"_

The crowd erupted into an enormous cheer for the Armenian, who raised a gloved fist with a smile on his face. He was relaxed, from what I could tell. He was wearing a pair of shorts pattered like the Finnish flag; it must have been a sort of homage to his husband. I sighed a bit, remembering how intense Alexianos and Tino's argument had been a few weeks back; but the thoughts were pushed out of mind as soon as that bell was rung to begin the first round of the fight.

My eyes were glued to the television, watching closely to the fight between the two powerful adversaries.

They circled eachother for a few seconds, before the taller Turk aimed a few punches towards the champion's body. Alexianos blocked all too easily, and then countered with a vicious right hook. "The Veteran" wasn't fazed by the counter strike and surged forward with an overhand left, scoring a direct hit to the forehead of Kirzigian.

The shot was merely taken by the durable champion, who backed away slightly, faked a right superman punch, and then as Adnan flinched, slid forward with a jarring left straight. The challenger stumbled backwards and went to the ground. Alexianos didn't pursue, but was too close to Adnan.

"The Veteran" tripped the Armenian, entangling his legs with the other man's and throwing him off balance, forcing the younger Kirzigian to fall onto his back. Adnan got into side mount and began tactically striking areas of Alexianos' body. Just under the ribs was a specific target I noticed Adnan kept striking.

After about a minute and a half of scuffling on the ground, Alexianos found himself on top of Adnan in full mount. He was trying hard to throw punches at Adnan's head, but the Turk just kept parrying and blocking the strikes. Within a few moments, Kirzigian was stuck in a submission attempt by Adnan. It was a shoulder lock, targeting Alexianos' left shoulder.

They struggled with the submission for quite some time, and as the bell rung to end the match, everyone who was watching in the stands had a horrified expression on their faces. Alexianos' left shoulder came into view on camera, and I now understood why the crowd seemed so shocked. The "One Man Army" had a dislocated shoulder.

As he walked to his corner the camera followed, and to my surprise, Kirzigian merely clutched his arm and shoved it back into place like nothing had ever happened. The event went to commercial break and I sat there with a horrified look on my face. Had he _seriously_ just popped his shoulder back in place like that? Dear _God,_ that was just brutal.

When the commercial break was over, the second round was started and both fighters circled once again. Alexianos seemed as if his shoulder had never been dislocated; he was amazingly unfazed by his injury.

The two got into a few quick-handed scuffles, landing punches here and there, but two minutes passed rather uneventfully.

When there was only thirty seconds left in the second round, I noticed a change in Kirzigian. His pace had picked up; he was now forcing Adnan to back up and try to stay away from his opponent.

I was amazed as Kirzigian spun around and landed a left spinning backfist to Adnan's jaw, causing the Turkish challenger to fall backwards and curl up in an attempt to defend himself as Alexianos stood over him, reigning down punch after punch on his head. The referee jumped in between them and called a stop to the fight. I sat there dumbfounded. It was a Technical Knockout victory for Kirzigian.

The "One Man Army" was now 41-0.

Not that I wasn't proud of my 5-0, but 41-0?

How the hell did he do it?


	15. Tetris

I wasn't aware of when I had gone to sleep, but I knew that I was woken up by my cell phone ringing loudly from my pants pocket. Groggy and startled, I dug the device from my pocket, opening my eyes so that I could look at the screen to see who was calling. It was Berwald.

I held the phone to my ear and answered it, still half-asleep.

"Hello?"

"_Hej. Did I wake y'?"_

"Yeah, you did…" I cleared my throat, cringing a bit at the surge of pain the action sent through my side. Fractured ribs. Not good. "But no harm done; what do you need?"

"_Ah, well, Lodovico actually called m' wondering if I could get y' t' attend an MMA convention here in town today… The WCFL has a section of its own there; he wants y' t' g' t' it s' that y' can meet th' fans and such. I'm going t' b' there, along with Alexianos Kirzigian, Sadik Adnan, Novak Novkovic, Andelko Begovich, and Alex Johansson."_

"I can't… I have surgery today."

"_Surgery? For what?"_

"Begovich managed to crack some of my ribs with a kick last night… I have to get surgery done to repair them."

"_Oh, damn… That'll put y' out of training for a while."_

"So I've been told… Say, how long is this convention going on? I'll get out of the hospital in a day or two after my surgery today."

"_It's an all-week thing, s' you'll b' able t' come."_

"Alright… Hej, do you mind stopping by the hospital before my surgery?"

"_Not at all. What time is it at?"_

"Eight-thirty."

"_Alright. It's seven-forty right now, s' y' have just under an hour t' get ready and such… I hope it goes well for y'; I know of too many fighters wh' have been forced t' retire from rib injuries."_

"Don't worry about it, Berwald. I'll be fine."

"_If y' say s'… I'll head t' the hospital around eight-fifteen. That alright?"_

"Yeah, that's fine. I'll see you then."

"_Alright. I'll see y'."_

I hung up the phone and sighed. Surgery was going to suck. But I was glad Berwald was going to stop by the hospital to see me beforehand.

Every movement from the time I got up off the couch to the time I got to the hospital was painful. Begovich had really beaten me up; I felt just about as bad as I had after I had fought Lovino. The inside of my left thigh was still bruised, as were both of my sides. It made it hard to do anything; it felt like someone had taken a steel pipe and just beat the hell out of me with it.

When I got to the hospital around eight-ten, Tolvorn was waiting for me in the lobby with a rather large-chested doctor by his side. I approached calmly, despite the fact that going under the knife to get a surgery done scared the hell out of me.

"Hey, there's the rookie." Tolvorn said, smiling as he saw me. I smiled back then looked to the doctor, who offered her hand to me. I grasped her hand and shook it.

"Good morning, Mr. Køhler. I'm Dr. Braginskaya; I'll be operating on you today." She greeted, a thick accent, similar to a Russian one, clinging to her words. I cocked my head to one side as she spoke, receiving a hearty laugh and a grin from the woman.

"I suppose you know my younger brother Ivan Braginski." She said. "You fought him once if I'm not mistaken."

"Yeah, he was a good fighter. He'll be happier in Canada with his fiancée though than he was in the WCFL, I'm sure." I replied.

"Yes, I agree. He is a good man… He deserves to be happy."

"Yeah… I never learned that Ivan had a sister; his fiancée never mentioned it to me."

"Ah, well, he and I were raised separately… Didn't come back into contact with eachother until five or six years ago. I wish I could have helped him grow up… I was raised in the Ukraine while he was given such a horrible run as a child…" The woman sighed before continuing. "But enough about that. Shall we get on to details about your surgery?"

I glanced to the doors of the hospital as they were opened and smiled a bit as "The Beast" ambled in, leather jacket and all. I looked back to Dr. Braginskaya.

"Hang on a minute. Let me talk with my boyfriend a bit." I said, turning and going over to the approaching Swede I knew as Berwald. He encircled his arms around me and smiled a bit as I hugged him back.

"Hej, Mathias… Lodovico nearly killed m' for leaving th' convention t' come here, but whatever… I hope this surgery turns out well… If things g' wrong…" I placed a finger on his lips before he could continue.

"Things won't go wrong, Berwald. You always think so negatively." I said. He gave me a look that told me _'I'm still going to worry'_. I placed my hand on his chest and could feel his heartbeat even through the layers of clothing he was wearing.

"Don't be so nervous, Berwald. It's just a little surgery." I tried to sound confident for his sake, because in all reality this was the first surgery I'd ever have. I was scared, but I didn't show it.

Berwald sighed a bit then placed a kiss on my lips; it was soft, yet it held a sort of passion to it that I could hardly grasp in my mind. When he pulled away, I smiled up at the taller man.

"Love y', Mathias… Give m' a call when y' can, alright? Let m' know how things g'." He said. I nodded.

"I love you too. And you have my word; when I get the chance I'll call. Now head on back to that convention before Lodovico gets impatient."

He chuckled a bit then planted a light kiss on my cheek before turning and heading out the doors. I went back over to Dr. Braginskaya and Tolvorn and nodded to them.

"Alright, back to the details of the surgery." I said.

After about a five minute briefing of the process which they were going to use to repair my ribs, I was changed into a hospital gown and soon on my way to surgery. Lying in the hospital bed with a few surgeons around me was kind of creepy, but I soon found myself unconscious due to anesthetics given to me via breathing mask.

When I awoke, I was in a dimly lit hospital room with an IV in my arm and a dull ache in my side. I brought my hands up and rubbed my eyes before taking a look around. Tolvorn was sitting in the corner of the room in a chair sleeping, a WCFL magazine lying on his chest.

I chuckled slightly then glanced to the table beside him, where a few items I recognized were sitting. My clothes, cell phone, and car keys were all there next to a stack of papers. I was a bit dizzy from anesthetics, so every movement I did made my head spin.

"Hey Tolvorn." I said, trying to awaken my sleeping coach. He stirred, but didn't wake up, so instead of shouting, I turned to the table beside my bed and grabbed an apple that was sitting there. I was probably supposed to eat it, but throwing it at Tolvorn sounded so much more entertaining.

I chucked the apple at him with what strength I could muster in my drugged-up state, nailing him in the head by mere luck. He awoke with a jolt, and I couldn't help but laugh. My coach looked at me and shook his head, picking the apple up off the floor and setting it on the table beside him.

"You're lucky you just had surgery or I would throw that right back at you." He said, chuckling and walking over to me.

"How're you feeling, rookie?" He asked.

"Dizzy." I replied. "That's about it."

"Well, what did you need me awake for? Don't tell me you just threw an apple at me for kicks."

"I need to call Berwald. Told him I would when I got the chance."

"Dr. Braginskaya told me to get her in here so she can talk to you about the surgery before you do anything. She'll tell you how long it'll be until you can train; things like that. I'll go get her." My coach walked out of the room, and soon returned with the Russian surgeon that had fixed up my ribs. She was carrying some x-rays, and put them up on a lighted board before starting to talk to me.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Køhler. I'm happy to inform you that the surgery went flawlessly. The plates, as you can see here," The woman motioned to an x-ray on the lighted board of my ribcage. You could clearly see where the plates had been put in. "Were put in perfectly. You should be back to training in two weeks if you heal correctly."

She took the x-rays down and shut off the lighted board before continuing.

"We're going to keep you here overnight just to monitor you while the anesthesia wears off. We'll have a nurse in and out of here to check on you, and if you need anything when they aren't here, there's a button on the railing of your bed to call a nurse in for you. Alright?"

"Yeah." I replied. "Thank you, by the way." I smiled at the woman, who grinned and nodded slightly.

"You're very welcome, Mr. Køhler. Have a nice day; I hope your recovery goes well."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Dr. Braginskaya exited the room, leaving just Tolvorn and I. I looked to my coach, and didn't even need to say anything to him before he retrieved my phone and handed it to me.

I dialed Berwald's number, and smiled to myself at the quick answer from "The Beast".

"_Hej Mathias. How'd it g'?"_

"It went good. Were you anticipating my call? You answered pretty quickly."

"_My phone was in m' hand when y' called… I'm glad th' surgery went alright."_

"Yeah, me too. You want to know something weird?"

"_What?"_

"Ivan Braginski's sister was the primary surgeon who worked on me."

"_Really? How interesting."_

"Yeah, it is. How's the convention going?"

"_Good s' far. A lot of people have been asking about y'. How long will it b' until y' can come?"_

"They're keeping me here overnight to monitor me while the anesthetics wear off. Tell anyone who asks about me that I'll be there tomorrow."

"_Alright. I have t' g'; more fans wanting t' talk. Love y'."_

"Love you too. I'll talk to you later."

"_Bye."_

I hung up the cell phone and held it in my hand, looking through a few text messages I had missed. My dad had texted me about an hour ago saying _'Proud of you, son.'_ I smiled then sighed slightly. Something like that was worth giving my busy parents a call. I dialed my dad's number and was surprised when he picked up.

"_Dennis Køhler speaking."_

"Hey dad."

"_Mathias? Ah, I wasn't expecting you to call."_

"I know. I just read your text that you sent me about an hour ago… What're you even proud of me for? I mean, you've never told me that before…"

My dad chuckled. _"I know I've never told you that before… But when you showed up on live television, fighting professionally with an undefeated record… It just blew my mind. Mathias, you're making something of yourself and you don't even realize it. I knew you weren't cut out for a business life like your mother and I… I never knew what you would become, but now I know. Mathias, you're a fighter. And no matter how much I hate to see you doing something so violent… I'm proud of you, because you discovered what you're good at."_

"Thanks dad… I really… God, I don't even know how to talk to you. We never really talked, I mean… You were always so busy; I didn't think that you or mom even noticed when I left for the United States… Tolvorn Ryker found me back in Copenhagen; he told me I had the body and mind to fight… He trained me, and I started fighting… It just… It all comes so naturally. Working at a desk with a pen, paper, and computer just never clicked in my head… but… fighting does. I know it's not what your or mom envisioned when you had a son, but…" I sighed. "I'm glad you're accepting, and even proud of me for finding what I'm good at in life."

"_People are talking about you now, Mathias. Copenhagen... You're becoming known for your fighting around here. I was walking past a gym the other day, and there were people outside of it talking about you. I couldn't help but smile; they were talking about you, Mathias, in a positive way. They were saying something about how amazing you were at your sport… And it's true; you are. You're… You've made me a proud man. That's all I have to say, I mean… Mathias, it's hard to believe that you've gotten so far in such little time."_

"I know. I find it hard to believe too. I just… My life's moving a million miles a minute. You have no clue; I've made a lot of close friends, I have a boyfriend, and I just… I have it made, you know?"

"_A boyfriend? Who's the lucky man who's able to call you that?"_

"He's a fellow fighter… Berwald Oxenstierna. He's great; not just as a fighter, but as a man too. He's nicer than his reputation says. I mean… I have nothing bad to say about him, honestly."

"_That's great, Mathias. Say, would you like to talk to your mother? She's here."_

"Yeah, sure."

The phone was passed to my mother, and I soon heard her sweet voice.

"_Mathias?"_

"Hey mom."

"_Oh, my son, you've grown up too fast! You're already twenty-three and have a successful job as a fighter. Ah, but you probably don't want to hear me talk about all of that, huh?"_

"To be honest, I could listen to you talk for hours and not be bothered by it. I won't be getting out of this place until morning."

"_Where are you?"_

"Hospital. Just had surgery."

"_Oh my God, why did you need surgery?"_

"It was nothing big, mom. Just had to get some plates put on my ribs to fix them. I got kicked in the ribcage last night when I was fighting and fractured two ribs."

My mom let out a sigh of relief. _"Oh thank God, I thought it was going to be something drastic. You scared me there for a moment, Mathias."_

"Sorry mom."

"_It's alright honey. Now what was this your father was saying about a boyfriend? You must tell me all about him."_

I laughed a bit. "Well, to start, his name is Berwald Oxenstierna. He's a twenty-nine year old fighter from Sweden."

"_So he's a fighter too, hm? What does he look like?"_

"He's six foot five… Formerly a body builder. Short blonde hair… He's got these eyes; they're just this intense blue that just burns into your mind. He's got a pale complexion… Heavily cauliflowered ears; you'll probably hate me for this, but I just find him so sexy. It's unbelievable. Just look up the name Berwald Oxenstierna on the internet; you might understand."

"_I'm at the computer right now, so I may as well look him up…" _There was small pause and I could hear the clicking of a keyboard as my mother typed in my boyfriend's name on what was most likely Google or some other search engine.

"_My oh my, Mathias. You've got yourself quite a handsome boyfriend. And you weren't kidding about those eyes of his."_

"They're even better in person. Maybe someday you can come to the states and meet him."

"_Can I ask what he's like personality-wise?"_

"Ah, well… He's really intense when you first meet him. He's really nice though, once you get to know him… He's had a harsh life growing up, and it shows whenever you get him talking about things like his parents… The man actually cries, believe it or not. He practically broke down when I went over to his house and we got to talking about a picture of his dad that was on the wall."

"_How long have you two been together?"_

"Not extremely long. Two, three months maybe?"

"_You sound like you feel a lot for him."_

"I've already told him I loved him. He was the first one to confess love though. That was a few weeks ago."

"_Aww… That's adorable, Mathias."_

"I suppose it is. I really do love him though; I've never felt so close to anyone before. Every time I see him…" I sighed. "It's just unexplainable."

"_That's how I felt about your father when I started loving him. And here we are now, still married after thirty years. Have you had any ideas of marrying Berwald?"_

"Oh God, no, I haven't. Marriage so soon? That's so Tino-esque."

"_Tino-esque?"_

"A friend of mine I met here, Tino, married his husband after two months of dating. Yeah, I was shocked when I found that out."

"_It's not necessarily a bad thing. Just shows that you love eachother."_

"Yeah, but… Berwald and I… I don't think either of us is ready for marriage. God, it just plain scary thinking about it. Just, stop talking about it. Change the subject, please."

It was true. The idea scared me. Marriage to Berwald… It wasn't a bad thing, but it was just so soon for us. If Berwald proposed after us only knowing eachother for a few months… I don't know if I'd have the courage to accept.

"_Any good friends you've made there?"_

"Yeah, actually. Quite a few."

"_Care to tell me about a few?"_

"Ah, well, to start… The first friend I met here in the states is Eduard Von Bock. He's my training partner from Estonia. He's just a bucket full of information on the WCFL. You can ask him anything about any fighter that was ever in the league, and he'll just tell you stuff off the top of his head. He's a freaking genius, I swear…. And he's also a master of three ground games; Judo, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and Wrestling."

"_Well that's great. Anyone else?"_

"Matthew Williams recently moved back to Canada. He's a good guy, about to get married actually. Funny part is, I've fought both he and his fiancée in the WCFL."

"_Who's his fiancée?"_

"Russian guy. Ivan Braginski. Tall, kind of creepy… He's a good guy though. Had a rough life, but things are getting better for him."

"_That's good. Now what about this Tino fellow you mentioned earlier?"_

"Well, he's the owner of a café downtown. I like to head down there and chat; Tino can talk anyone's ear off. He's a lively guy… Finnish too. It seems that I've met, or know of someone in the area who comes from each Nordic nation. I mean, I'm from Denmark, Berwald is from Sweden, Tino is from Finland, and then there's two other fighters in the league who I don't really know who are from Norway and Iceland."

"_Well isn't that interesting?"_

"I know, it is. I mean, in the WCFL, there's like no one with the same nationality on the roster. There's an Armenian, a Latvian, a Croatian, a Serbian… There's only one American on the roster, and we're in America. It's hard to believe."

"_It is the 'World'-Class Fighting League though."_

"So true. Maybe Lodovico tries to make sure there's no one with the same nationality on the roster."

"_Who's Lodovico?"_

"Chairman of the WCFL."

"_Ah. Where's he from? That doesn't sound like an American name to me."_

"He's Italian."

"_Is all the management Italian?"_

"No. There are a lot of different ethnicities and religions and just… It's a very culturally and nationally respective management."

"_Well that's good."_

"Yeah… But enough about what's going on over here. How have things been over in Denmark with you and dad?"

"_We've been as busy as ever. You know your father and I; always off doing one thing or another."_

"Yeah. I'm lucky dad even picked up the phone, huh?"

My mother laughed a bit. _"Probably. Ah, but I've got to go. I've got work to do. I'll give the phone back to your father. I love you, Mathias."_

"Love you too mom."

The phone was passed back to my father.

"_Ah, she sounded happy to talk to you after so long."_

"Yeah. I'm glad you picked up the phone."

My father chuckled heartily then sighed. _"Ah, now that you've got me talking, I don't want to hang up. When will you be coming back to Denmark to visit us, huh?"_

"I'll see when I have some time opened in my schedule. I'll call you sometime soon though, dad. I promise."

"_Alright. I love you, Mathias."_

"Love you too, dad. Talk to you later."

"_Bye."_

I hung up the phone then let out a light sigh.

"I think that was the longest phone conversation I've ever witnessed." Tolvorn commented, smirking. I laughed a bit.

"Yeah… I guess despite the fact that I've never really been around my parents too much, I still get along with them pretty well."

"Your description of Berwald made me cringe. You sounded like some teenage girl ogling over some movie star."

"Oh shut up. Can't I talk about my boyfriend with my mother in peace?" I asked, laughing.

"As a matter a fact, no, you can't."

"Somebody get me another apple."

"Oh don't you dare."

"Oh I will dare if someone gets an apple in my hands."

"I'm not target practice, Mathias."

"I know. You're just fun to throw stuff at."

"Why're you so mean to me, rookie?"

"I have to get payback for those six hours of hell you put me through every day while training for Begovich, don't I?"

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Old man."

"Rookie."

"Protagonist."

"Antagonist."

"Why're we listing opposites?"

"Boredom."

We spent a measly five seconds straight-faced, before busting out into laughter. Ah, coach. How you entertained me so. It hurt to laugh due to the surgery I had just had, but whatever. It was no big deal.

Once our bout of laughter was over, Tolvorn walked up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder, sighing with a smile on his face.

"Well, Mathias. I'm going to head on home for the day. I've got things to do. Rest up, alright? I'll see you."

"Alright, coach. See you later."

Tolvorn then exited the room, now leaving just me alone in the hospital room with a cell phone to mess with.

I played Tetris on my phone for what must have been an hour, before I decided to get some sleep. I drifted in and out of slumber for quite a while, a nurse coming in and checking on me every hour or so. My side hurt, and my leg was still bruised from Andelko Begovich's kicks, but the worst thing was just sitting there alone in a hospital room without anyone around. Sure, I could've talked to the nurse, but she was doing her job and wasn't there to make conversation.

Around one in the morning, I heard the door to the room open. I opened my eyes and lazily looked over to the entryway only to be surprised by a six foot five Swede walking in.

"… Berwald?" I muttered tiredly.

"Hej." He greeted quietly, walking over to the side of the bed.

"What're you doing here?" I asked, reaching over and grabbing his callused hand.

"Just figured I'd stop by and see how y' were… didn't expect y' t' b' awake."

"I've been in and out of sleep since like, noon… I've gone in between playing Tetris on my phone and sleeping. I swear, that little tune is haunting my dreams now." I said, chuckling lightly. He smiled and shook his head a bit before leaning down and planting a kiss on my forehead.

"Get some more sleep, alright? I've got t' get home t' get m' own sleep s' I can get up at seven and g' back t' that convention. Just call m' when y' get out of th' hospital; I'll meet y' outside th' WCFL center."

"Alright. Love you, Berwald."

"Love y' too."

He started to turn to walk away, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him towards me, before placing a hand on the back of his neck and pulling him down into a kiss on the lips. He seemed surprised at first, but welcomed the embrace within seconds.

He gently pulled away and I smiled up at him.

"What the hell were you walking away for? No goodbye kiss?" I asked, chuckling a bit.

"Figured y' were too-" I placed a finger over his lips and shook my head slightly before pulling him down into a second kiss. He smiled into it and as were separated he chuckled a bit.

"Y' really don't want m' t' leave, d' y'?" He asked.

"Not really… You have any idea how much being stuck alone in here sucks?"

"Just sleep, Mathias… You'll b' out of here in n' time."

"I guess… Goodnight, Berwald."

He placed a kiss on my forehead. "Night Mathias. Sleep well."

With that, the Swede left.

I merely grabbed my phone, and continued playing Tetris.

Sleeping was so overrated.


	16. Hunger

Around eight in the morning I was finally released from the hospital; it felt good to finally be out of that hospital bed and on my way home.

I got to my apartment and took a shower, going about a regular morning routine, minus the fact that I was still sore as hell and had stitches in my side that I had to go easy on. I got dressed in a pair of sweatpants, a WCFL logo t-shirt, and slipped on a jacket before taking the time to call Berwald around nine o'clock.

"_Hej Mathias." _He answered.

"Hey. I'm going to head on over to the WCFL center. I went home after I got out of the hospital so that I could take a shower and such."

"_Alright. I'll b' waiting outside for y'."_

"See you when I get there, Berwald."

"_See y'."_

After that rather brief conversation, I hung up my phone and got a pair of shoes on before heading out the door. I got in my car and drove to the WCFL center, traffic near the center being busy and hardly moving. When I parked in a space in the large parking lot and got out, I was immediately recognized by passerby. They said hello and continued on their way, obviously knowing they would see me inside the building.

I went to the main doors, which were crowded with people paying and getting into the MMA convention. Berwald was waiting by one of the doors, and waved to me once I saw him. I meandered over and smiled at him as he led me inside.

"Busy day, huh?" I said. He nodded.

"Yeah. There are tons of people here… Let's get on over t' th' WCFL section and get y' settled in. Th' fans have been asking about y'." He replied as he led me through crowds of people to the area where the WCFL fighters and affiliates were.

There were tables lined up a little ways away from a wall with chairs here and there where fighters sat. There were little name plates laid out saying who the fighter sitting down was, but there was hardly any need for them. We were all easily recognized, seeing that we were pretty famous at this point. Berwald sat down in his respective chair, and motioned to the one next to him, where a nameplate for me was set out. I sat down and looked around, taking in all the details of the area.

There were people from all over attending, and the ages varied. There were old timers and young kids; I even recognized a few of the retired WCFL fighters standing around and chatting.

Before I knew it, people were lining up for my autograph and were asking for photos. I was happy, to say the least. I had a reputation as an undefeated fighter in the league; 5-0 was a good record, and it was noticed widely. When I had a moment to spare, Lodovico walked over to me with a smirk on his face.

"Whenever you'd like to know about your next opponent, come on back behind where Begovich is sitting. See that green screen?" He asked, motioning to a cleared area behind where my last opponent was sitting. There was in fact a green screen set up, and a camera was set up on the table where Begovich was.

"Yeah." I replied.

"We're going to take your picture for advertisements. We'll just have you take off your jacket and shirt and put on some gloves, and your picture will be taken alone. Your opponent's picture has already been taken; but we'll need a picture of both of you in a stare down. That's when you'll learn who he is."

"Alright. Why don't we do that now?"

"Stand on up and take off the shirts then; head on over to the green screen. Our cameraman is waiting."

Lodovico went over beside the cameraman over by Begovich, who moved out of the way in order for the pictures to be taken. I stood and went over, taking off my jacket and t-shirt. I received some cheers from the female population nearby, making me smirk a bit.

"You don't mind the bandages, do you, Lodovico?" I asked, motioning to the bandages covering the stitching on my side.

"They can be edited out. Don't worry about it." He said, tossing me a pair of gloves, which I slipped on with ease. I stepped in front of the green screen and posed in a fighting stance for the camera; the shot was taken and now came the time for me to get a shot, face-to-face with my next opponent. I looked to my left, and was shocked to see the Serbian Novak Novkovic shirtless and approaching.

"Mathias Køhler, meet Novak Novkovic, your next opponent." Lodovico said, grinning. I turned towards the Serbian, who happened to be nearly the exact same height as me. We got a few inches away from eachother, locking eyes in an attempt to be intimidating. A few pictures were taken, and by now a crowd had gathered around.

"This is the end of your streak, Køhler. You won't get past me. You better watch your head in the cage in eight weeks." Novkovic warned, still inches from me.

"Take your own advice for a chance, Novkovic. I'm not going to make this easy for you." I responded.

"Is that so? Then this should be worthwhile. I'll enjoy seeing you bleed."

"The only blood you'll be seeing is your own."

"You better watch what you say, rookie. The five fights you've had have been easy; this is where things get real for you."

"Novkovic, you may be a good fighter, but you may want to change your attitude. I'm going to win, easy fight or not."

"I doubt it. You're called "The Rookie" for a reason. Rookies don't last long in a sport like this, and I'm going to show you that."

"I'm 5-0, Novkovic. Have you done that before? I'd think not."

"You're lucky we're under contract, Køhler. If we weren't you'd be unconscious right now."

"Just keep talking, Novkovic. You ought to save your breath for the fight; I know you'll need it. Take two steps in the cage and you're exhausted. Why do you think Kirzigian has managed to knock you out in the first round each time you've fought him?"

"Your no Kirzigian, Køhler. Just wait. You'll be regretting your words in eight weeks."

"I'm sure I will." I said sarcastically. "I'm sure I will."

Novkovic turned and headed over to his seat, where he retrieved his shirt and slipped it on, taking off his gloves. He tossed them at me as I walked away, and they hit me right in the back of the head, earning a reaction from the gathered crowd. I stopped and turned around.

"Real mature, Novkovic. Real mature." I said before turning back around. I heard him say something in what was most likely Serbian, but disregarded it. I took off my gloves and handed them to Lodovico before sitting down at my seat next to Berwald. I put my shirt and jacket back on with a heavy sigh.

"Novkovic has always been good at talking bad about other fighters. H' doesn't d' it often, s' h' must not like y'." Berwald commented.

"Tch. He has no reason to." I responded.

Berwald shrugged slightly. "Make's for a good fight when th' time comes."

I sighed. "Well, let's get on with the day. I'm not going to let a little verbal taunting from that Serbian bother me."

"Good thinking, Mathias."

The day went on without further words with my next opponent. We basically stayed away from eachother the entire time the MMA convention went on.

On the last day of the convention, things had slowed down, but there were still plenty of people around. As I signed a poster for a fan and handed it back, I glanced to my right at Berwald. He was having a conversation with one of the fans about his style of fighting. I couldn't help but smile; Berwald was actually quite talkative when it came to his fans. His reputation as a silent man was always thwarted when someone talked with him about anything.

I looked back to the small line of people in front of me with a smile, signing a picture with my trusty Sharpie marker.

"Could we get a picture of you with us?" One of the women in front of me asked, motioning to her little group of friends as I handed her back her item.

"Yeah, sure." I replied, standing and going around the table to get to them. I grinned and posed with my fists up, and the two girls on each side of me did little mock fighting stances. Once the photo was taking they thanked me and went on their way. I went back to my chair and sat down.

"You're pretty popular." Berwald commented.

"I guess. Being 5-0, and just having beaten "The Southern Slavic Legend"… I would expect to have at least a little fame." I replied.

"Yeah…" He trailed off as he was handed a framed photo. He stared at it for a moment, and then looked up at the person who had handed him the picture.

"Peter!" He exclaimed, standing and going around the table, hugging the man who had handed him the photo tightly. It must have been Berwald's brother.

"Hej Berwald. Long time no see, huh?" Peter said, laughing a bit. Berwald chuckled and released the younger man.

"Y' didn't tell m' y' were coming t' th' United States." Berwald replied, grinning at his brother.

"I wanted it to be a surprise. I knew this convention was going on; I found some time open in my schedule and booked the first flight possible over here. I've missed you, brother. What else can I say? I haven't seen you in three years."

"How long are you going to be here?"

"A few days at least. Do you have room at your place?"

"Ja. Come on back here; I've kind of got things t' d'… Signing autographs and such." Berwald said, returning to his seat. Peter followed, grabbing a nearby chair and setting it next to his brother, sitting down with a smile.

Berwald resumed his conversation with Peter, this time in Swedish, while continuing to sign autographs for awaiting fans.

After a little while, around six in the afternoon, things were wrapping up and the MMA convention was over. Berwald came over to me with his younger brother.

"Mathias," He said. "I want y' t' meet m' brother."

I looked to Peter and offered my hand to the younger of the two Swedes. It was kind of funny; Peter actually looked like a younger, less muscular, less intense Berwald.

Peter clasped my hand tightly and shook it. "In the few hours that I've been here, I've heard quite a bit about you." He informed. I grinned.

"Berwald can talk quite a bit despite his appearance, can't he?"

Peter laughed a bit. "Ja, he can. His looks only fool those who've never met him."

"Precisely. But I haven't heard much about you from him other than the fact you're a college student studying to be a Professional Engineer."

"I'm not surprised. He probably forgets about me from time to time; we never see eachother since we both are pretty busy and live in different countries."

"I don't think Berwald has that bad a mind, no matter how many times he gets clocked in the head."

"You never know. He's taken so many hits, it's a wonder he's not completely brain-dead by now."

"You watch his fights on television?"

"When I can, ja. Who would want to miss seeing their big brother kick some ass? Not me, that's for sure. "The Beast" here puts on a good show; I sometimes forget that he isn't always as tense as he is in the cage. Half expected to get punched in the face when I showed up here out of the blue."

I laughed a bit. "I don't think Berwald would have the heart to punch his brother in the face. He's actually a real softie."

"You would know, Mathias."

"Why yes, I would."

"Shall w' head on over t' my place? Or are y' going t' head on home, Mathias?" Berwald cut in, seemingly to prevent himself from further embarrassment. I knew he didn't like being called a softie when he was such a big, brutal man.

"I think I'm going to head home." I replied. "I need my rest. And you two need some time to catch up. What was it, three years that you haven't seen eachother?"

"Yeah. I'll see y' tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah. Love you."

"Love y' too, Mathias."

We shared a kiss, but were unlucky enough for someone with a camera nearby to snap a photo just as our lips connected. After the kiss, I looked to the person.

"Is there no privacy in the world?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it, Mathias. I don't care if our relationship goes public." Berwald said, pulling me into a second kiss.

"Oh come on; get a room you two." Peter said, covering his eyes and turning away. Berwald chuckled a bit as we separated.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Berwald." I said. He nodded.

"See y'."

With that, I left, heading out to my car and getting in. I drove home, getting into my apartment without much of a hassle. When I walked in, I kicked off my shoes and went to the bathroom, staring myself in the mirror.

I was bruised up, to say the least. Despite the rest I had gotten, Begovich's damage wasn't going away any time soon. I opened up the medicine cabinet and retrieved some painkillers for my side; I wished Begovich hadn't kicked me in the ribs like that. Two weeks without training would feel like forever. What the hell was I supposed to do until I healed? It's not like I had any plans or anything; I couldn't even do much physically until I was properly healed. I mean, one of the upcoming days I would have to go sign a contract for my upcoming fight with Novak Novkovic, but that would only be a fifteen minute thing, unless Novkovic decided to run his mouth again; then it would turn into something like a half hour long ordeal.

Ah, how I was anticipating the fight already. Novak Novkovic; the heavy handed man who'd faced Alexianos Kirzigian twice, was going to be in the cage with me.

This was really going to be a challenge though; he was a man to be feared. His knockouts were brutal. His massive arms and hands were backed up by a durable body, with strong legs to hold him up. He was a boxer primarily, and he was wrestler merely because he needed some sort of ground game.

That was how I would try to win; take it to the ground if the two hundred fifteen pound man would allow it. But even if I couldn't get him to the ground, I knew it was possible to go toe to toe with him. I had gone toe to toe with a few other fighters considered to be most dangerous on their feet. Andelko Begovich, Lovino Vargas, Ivan Braginski… But then again, Novak Novkovic was something new for me. He was an entirely new kind of fighter to me; one that had talked against me and tried to intimidate me with words.

He was about as cocky as Nikodemos Antonov, if not worse than that.

After taking a few painkillers, I went to my bedroom and lay down in bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was going to be a long two weeks of recovery. And after that, a long six weeks of training for my fight. I couldn't stop thinking about being in that cage; fighting had consumed my mind, I supposed. It was my job, my lifestyle actually. I was so used to having a busy schedule; training for a few hours each day with Tolvorn, Eduard, and occasionally Lovino, resting the rest of the day with nothing on my mind. Now and again I would go out with Berwald, but for the next few days he was going to be with his brother.

It's not that I wasn't happy that Peter had come all the way from Sweden to spend some time with his brother; they hadn't seen eachother in three years after all. It was just now Berwald was going to be occupied with him; I doubted they were going to spend much time apart for the next few days. Not a lot of chances for me to get in there and steal a nice little makeout session from "The Beast".

I yawned; it was still a bit early for me to go to sleep, but I guessed it wouldn't hurt to get as much rest as possible. The sooner I healed the better. I drifted off into slumber, waking up every once in a while due to a small amount of pain from lying on bruised areas.

The days passed slowly. One day became two, and so on, but it felt like it had been weeks when it had only been a few days. When two weeks came around, I was pretty excited to get back to training. I had gone to the hospital, and they had made sure the stitches in my side were healed, before giving me the all-clear to start training once again. And it was just in the nick of time too; Lodovico had contacted Tolvorn and needed my coach and I to go sign the next fight contract.

As I entered the offices for the sixth time in my career, I received a scowl from my already present Serbian opponent. He didn't like me for some odd reason, but I wasn't going to let him get to me.

I sat down in one of the chairs, as did my coach. Lodovico looked to us with a smile on his face before passing us the contract. Novkovic and his coach had already signed. Tolvorn and I signed as usual; it was a standard event. We were the co-main event, and were going to be in the fourth fight of the night. Six weeks training, as was the norm for nearly any event; two weeks had gone by sluggishly, and I had anticipated starting my training.

When the contract was signed and tucked away in a file, Lodovico looked to me, and then to my opponent.

"I have a feeling pre and post-fight conferences are in order for you two. The week of the event, I'll have you two get into a pre-fight conference. You can say what you'd like. After the fight, I'd like for both of you to be in the same room for a post-fight conference." He explained.

Novkovic scoffed. "What's there to say? I already know he can't even compare to me. He's faced five easy fighters up until now."

"Oh shut the hell up, Novkovic. Begovich beat you once before, and I beat him with little trouble." Okay, maybe I lied a bit there, but still. Novak was saying that Begovich had been a weak opponent; how was that possible when "The Southern Slavic Legend" had beaten him before?

"I'd watch what you say, Køhler. You'll be regretting those words when they earn you a retirement from the WCFL."

"What if I win? What will you do then, Novkovic. Go cry about it?"

"We can play "what if" all day. You won't be winning this fight. Don't think for one second that you have anything over me."

"Never said I did."

"You were thinking it."

"Actually, I wasn't. I was thinking maybe you should shut the hell up and prove your words in the cage in six weeks."

"You know I will."

"Sure, Novkovic. Just wait."

"That's enough, you two. Save it for the pre-fight conference, alright?" Tolvorn cut in. Novak and I looked away from eachother. My opponent stood and exited. His coach stood and looked to us.

"I apologize for his behavior… He hasn't had a great past few weeks." He said before leaving. I furrowed my brow and glanced to Tolvorn.

"Must be like taking care of a child. I feel bad for that coach." I commented.

"That's enough, Mathias. Let's not give you a bad reputation at this point." Tolvorn replied, standing. I stood as well.

"Sorry. But Novkovic has it coming to him; I'm not just going to let him get away with saying all that."

"Save your breath, Mathias. We're going to do cardio training this week." He said as we exited Lodovico's office.

We headed to the gym across the street, and soon I was training. It felt good, despite the fact that my cardio had started to dwindle down after not training for two weeks. I ran laps, did some sprinting, and basically did whatever the hell else Tolvorn wanted me to do. That was the routine for the entire week, six hours a day, every day except for Saturday.

My coach was nice enough to give me the day off, and I knew how I wanted to spend it. I hadn't seen Berwald in a while.

I was sitting on my couch in my apartment when I pulled out my phone and called "The Beast", smiling to myself when I heard that familiar deep voice on the other line.

"_Hej Mathias."_

"Hey Berwald. What're you up to?"

"_Not much. Just finished m' morning jog. How about y'?"_

"I have the day off from training. Tolvorn was generous. I was wondering if you were going to be busy today."

"_I have t' train until six, but I'll head on over t' your apartment when I'm done training, if you'd like."_

"That'd be great. Who's your upcoming fight against?"

"_Alex Johansson. Just signed th' contract for it yesterday, actually. Lodovico was late on getting things sorted out."_

"You can be ready in five weeks though, I'm sure."

"_Ja, I know. It's not much of a difference t' m'."_

"Well, I'll let you go so you can get back to training. See you around six, Berwald."

"_See y' Mathias. Love y'."_

"Love you too. Bye."

"_Bye."_

I hung up my cell phone and shoved it in my pocket, laying my head back on the couch cushions. My legs were sore from running so much during the week's training, but it was a soreness I was used to at this point. Tolvorn always worked me hard; as did Eduard whenever he was around. I wouldn't exactly need Eduard for this fight much; Novkovic was primarily a standup fighter. I already knew my ground game was better than his. Even so, I supposed some fine-tuning of my skills would be handy in order to end the fight quickly with a submission.

I watched television primarily until around six thirty when Berwald showed up. Sitcoms and investigative series were getting pretty boring, but they passed the time. I was relieved when I heard Berwald's knocking on my apartment door.

I got up from the couch and headed to the door, opening it for "The Beast" who nearly had to duck when he walked in.

"Afternoon, Mathias." He greeted with a smile.

"Hej." I replied, smiling as he placed a chaste kiss on my lips.

"Y' got yourself a decent looking place." He commented, looking around my apartment.

"Eh, it's alright. I've made it as homely as possible, you know?" I responded, heading over to the couch and sitting down. Berwald kicked off his shoes and left them at the door before joining me, tossing his arm over my shoulders and pulling me close.

"S' what have y' been doing all day?" He asked. I leaned my head on his shoulder, sighing a bit.

"Just been watching television, mainly. Lazy day for me." I said, chuckling.

"Savor th' lazy days y' have. When y' get up in ranks, there's n' time t' b' lazy."

"I figured that. You're almost always doing something. How was training today, by the way?"

"It was alright. Antonio pushed m' hard today… It was one thing after another; mainly cardio and upper body training today. Tomorrow will probably b' th' same."

"You sore?"

"Yeah, but it'll g' away overnight."

"Or sooner. I could give you a massage." I suggested, smiling up at the Swede.

"Ah, y' don't have t'."

"I insist, Berwald. You deserve it."

He sighed. "Who am I t' refuse?" He asked, chuckling with that low voice I knew all too well. He unwrapped his arm from around me and removed his leather jacket, followed by the rest of the articles covering his torso. He turned his back towards me and I began to massage his shoulders, which were, as expected, tense as hell. I was sure that even with how muscular the former bodybuilder was, this was just too much tension.

I dug the palm of my hands into the bare skin of the other man, rubbing in circles that obviously were doing something right. He practically melted into the touch. Large muscles were relaxed now, and I found myself subconsciously running a hand down the strong muscles of his back, and soon down his sides. His skin, despite how many times it had been beaten upon, was soft. He chuckled a bit, and I snapped out of my little daze.

"What?" I asked.

"Getting a bit carried away there, Mathias?" He replied, looking over his shoulder.

"I guess. But it doesn't look like you mind one bit, hm?" I said as I rested my chin on his shoulder.

"I don't." He responded, turning back around to face me. He had a smirk on his face; I couldn't help but grin. To have "The Beast" sitting in front of me shirtless with a smirk on his face was enthralling.

It didn't take long for him to take off his glasses and pull me into an open-mouthed kiss. Oh how I loved this; the way he made me feel was just indescribable. When those callused hands of his found their way under my shirt and traced the muscles of my abdomen, I wasn't quite too sure how far we were going to go with this.

His lips made their way down to my neck, where they hovered for a few moments, hot breath heating the skin and making me itch for more contact.

"W' both have t' train tomorrow, y' know." He said.

"I know… We should stop before things get too out of hand…" I replied reluctantly, knowing that any soreness that resulted from a good time with "The Beast" would affect my ability to train, and would probably result in some teasing from Tolvorn.

He brought his face back up to mine and pressed our foreheads together.

"Could I spend th' night here?" He asked.

"Depends. You planning on going to sleep with me?"

"If you'll allow it."

"Feel free to stay then, Berwald. You hungry? I'm sure I have something in my kitchen that a man like you could eat."

As if to respond for the Swede, a slight grumbling was heard from his stomach. We both laughed a bit.

"I'll take that as a yes." I said. "Come on. I'm sure we'll find something."


	17. Køhler vs Novkovic

Five weeks went by rather slowly, but like always, it was time to fight. In the locker room, I was sitting, waiting, ready for my time to step out into the cage. I couldn't believe what Novkovic had said about me in his pre-fight conference.

His words were engraved into my mind.

"_Køhler is nothing but another bad decision of his sponsors' and Lodovico's. He's going to retire once he loses, because a man like him will not be able to take a defeat. He's a wuss; a fluke fighter who's gotten lucky five times in a row. His luck ends here. I haven't gone through hell these past few weeks all for nothing. This is the end of the line for him."_

I shook my head at the thought of his sharp tongue; how the hell could he say all that? Five fights, against five formidable fighters were all flukes? That was all just luck? I'd think not. I had equally bashed on the Serbian in my pre-fight conference, but I hadn't gone so far as to saying the man's 30-11 record was there for no reason. Novkovic was a god fighter; that I gave him credit for.

When my time came to head out to the cage, I was greeted by a roaring crowd. They were anticipating this fight; there had been so much trash-talking within the six weeks in between the contract and the fight, it had built the tension in the fans. Novkovic fans and my fans had online wars of words; arguments that would be proved right or wrong by what went down tonight.

I entered the cage, fists clenched, watching as Novak was led to the cage. I noticed one fault in him immediately; he had bandages covering his left side. As he took his place in his corner, his coach slowly unwrapped the bandages, and revealed to everyone half-healed scars from what was most likely surgery.

Despite how cruel I knew it would be, his left side was now my target. I had to win this fight by any means possible that didn't go beyond the boundaries of cheating.

Brian O'Keeffe stepped up to the center of the mat to announce us fighters.

"And now, our co-main event of the evening; introducing first," The Irishman motioned to me.

"Fighting out of the red corner with a record of 5-0, this man is a Generalist, fighting out of Copenhagen, Denmark… Standing at six feet tall, weighing one-hundred eighty-five pounds… He is "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

The crowd cheered loudly; my popularity was getting up there. My fan base, though still small compared to fighters like Alexianos' or Berwald's, had increased greatly over the course of my five win streak. People were jumping on "The Rookie" bandwagon now.

When the crowd died down, Brian O'Keeffe motioned to my opponent as he introduced him.

"Introducing second, fighting out of the blue corner with a record of 30-11, this man is a boxer and a wrestler, fighting out of Veliko Gradište, Serbia… Standing at six feet tall, weighing two-hundred eighteen pounds… He is Novak Novkovic!"

The crowd cheered only a tad bit louder for the Serbian than they had for me. Looked like I could gauge my popularity around Novkovic's level.

The media and coaches cleared the cage with Brian O'Keefe, leaving just me and my adversary with the referee. He was a new ref, a guy from Wales from what I heard. Liam Kirkland or something; I figured he had relations to the great Generalist from the past, Arthur Kirkland.

"Are you ready?" The Welshman asked, looking to both Novkovic and I. We both nodded and got into fighting stances. He was in a boxing stance, hands close to his body, ready to guard and strike. Those heavy hands were going to hurt; that's about all I knew. I was in a slightly lower stance, legs more spread apart and hands a bit farther from my body. I was in my casual "brawler" stance, which was effective for really any sort of game he tossed at me.

When Liam swung his hands down and yelled the word fight, and the bell was rung, Novkovic and I were quick to move and start circling. There was to be no respect between us; just raw fighting, pure want for the win.

When he aimed one of those dangerous hands at my head, I noticed that he was slower than what he seemed to be on videos I had watched. I easily moved away from the strike, along with the few that followed.

I threw a kick towards his left side, which he blocked. I knew he was going to protect that side desperately. After his block, he countered with a left hook that connected strongly to my jaw. I slid backwards to avoid further hits, only to run into the cage. Novkovic closed in on my, realizing that I was cornered.

He threw numerous strikes, some of which I blocked, others that I didn't. When he got into the clinch, placing an arm over my shoulder and his other on my opposite side in something people liked to call the over-under clinch, I knew he couldn't bring any sort of devastation in this position. He was not a clinch-fighter whatsoever.

I worked to keep him in the clinch, now shoving the over two-hundred pound man around the cage like a ragdoll. He was practically useless in this type of fight; it was primarily Muay Thai that was to be used.

I transitioned my standup grappling position to a double collar tie, with both hands on the back of his neck. I then brought my right knee up, striking his left side numerous times; achieving grunts of pain from the man I was holding. I was wearing him down; he was already breathing heavy while I was hardly breaking a sweat.

I continued to dish out knee after knee on that side, before I decided to try to take him down. It would be difficult though; there was a thirty-three pound difference between us. When I attempted to place my foot behind his for a sweep, he reversed my tactic, and I was the one who ended up on my back with him in my guard.

He was hard to control from my back; I had to do something before he started laying out some serious ground and pound with those huge fists of his. I took quite a few hits to the head and body before I managed to do something though; I achieved the rubber guard, with my left foot over his back, gripped in my right hand.

"Triangle, Mathias! Triangle!" Tolvorn shouted. I knew exactly what he was talking about; the Triangle choke. It was a choke which used the legs to constrict blood flow to the brain.

I shifted my position, keeping one of his arms and his head in between my legs, while his other attempted to get me off of him. I endured his heavy blows with his free hand though, tightly locking in the submission. But Novak didn't tap.

When the man stopped resisting and went limp, that's when Liam stepped in and stopped the fight. I released my hold on the man and jumped up, throwing my arms in the air and letting out a mighty cry. Triangle choke victory? Hell. Yes.

Tolvorn hurried over to me and tossed me my sponsor's shirt. I slipped it on before embracing my coach.

"I told him I wouldn't lose, didn't I?" I said, grinning. Tolvorn nodded his head.

"He can't say you didn't warn him." He replied, messing up my already matted, sweaty hair further with his hand. I went to the center of the mat where Liam stood, along with Brian O'Keeffe. I glanced over to my right where Novkovic was finally coming to. He was on his back, hands up and covering his face. His body trembled slightly, and I realized he was crying. Novak Novkovic, the six foot, two-hundred eighteen pound Serbian, was crying. His coach was attempting to console him, but Novak shooed him away, before slowly getting to his feet.

I noticed something though; his side was bleeding. Where stitches had obviously been previously on his left side, was bleeding. He made his way over to the other side of Liam, still wiping tears from his face. Brian O'Keeffe stepped up to announce my victory.

"And now, announcing the winner by Triangle Choke at two minutes, twenty seconds of the first round… "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

The crowd cheered wildly as my arm was raised by Liam; as I was led out of the cage after a few moments of celebration, I stopped halfway to the locker room as I heard Novkovic's voice on the microphone.

"… I have sustained far too much…" He began. I turned around, watching through bright lights and camera flashed.

"I have spent too long in this cage. Spent too long fighting for something I will never achieve… I had my chances, and I blew them all… I've screwed up so many times… I want to apologize to Mathias Køhler…" Novak turned and looked at me as I made my way back to the cage. I stood in the doorway as he continued speaking.

"I never should have talked against you. These past few weeks, I've been in the wrong… I've been jealous of you, Køhler. You were 5-0, now 6-0… I've never gone that many wins in a row before." He turned back to the crowd, now speaking to everyone.

"These past few weeks, I've been recovering from a few surgeries to fix ribs that had been broken during training, and broken previously by Alexianos Kirzigian… I would call it an unfair advantage, but this would have been my last fight regardless of who won… I can no longer fight as I have before. My doctors warned me that my time as a fighter was running thin. I disregarded it and acted like nothing was wrong… But now I realize, I should have backed out before I fought Køhler… I wouldn't be leaving the WCFL in such a humiliating way."

"Over the past few years, I've had rivalry that has produced fights that have gone down in history as some of the best in the WCFL… but… The man everyone knows as my rival has also been my lover for quite some time. This fighting… It has taken its toll on both Begovich and I. All the surgeries I've had, all the times I've spent not caring for him... I was supposed to retire last year. But I never did. And now I regret it… But a late retirement, is better than dying in the cage. The way people see me outside of the cage; I do not wish to be seen as a hostile, heavy handed, vengeful man… I just wish to be seen as someone who forgot who he was."

"So I retire with a heart heavier than my strikes have ever been. I retire in hopes that I can repair my life and my love; I will never return to this sport again… Goodbye, everyone."

Novak handed the microphone back to Brian O'Keeffe, before heading to the door. He stopped in front of me and looked me in the eyes.

"Build a legacy better than mine, Køhler… You have my support." He said before heading out of the cage. I watched as he headed to his locker room, a somber expression on his face.

I didn't quite know how to react to such a thing. Novkovic had retired so suddenly… I understood his motives though; he had built his reputation on being the WCFL's anti-hero, and his fighting had affected his life in a negative way. Whoever knew that he had a relationship, albeit a troubled one, with Andelko Begovich? After all of the ethnic slurs they had tossed at eachother and after all the supposed hatred that was between them, they had been lovers? Love-hate relationship much?

As I made my way to my locker room, I knew the look on my face was that of confusion and slight sadness. Tolvorn followed me.

"You alright, rookie?" He asked as I sat on the bench in the locker room with a heavy sigh.

"How can things like that just… happen like that? I mean… I don't understand it, Tolvorn. Novkovic just seemed like your average cocky fighter to me; how did everyone not know about his struggles? How come no one learned of this until tonight?" I replied as I started to remove my gloves.

"Well, that's happened in quite a few fighters' lives. They choose not to let their personal lives become a public spectacle in an attempt to protect themselves and their loved ones… Novak released his pent up frustration with harsh words. But he didn't have the heart to do his best during his fight against you. I know far too many guys who had lives like that; where how they went about releasing their pent up emotions started to ruin their personal lives."

I shook my head a bit, letting out a quiet sigh. "Do I have to talk at the post-fight conference?" I asked.

"No. I'll do the talking for you if you'd like. Just take a shower and head on home, alright? I'll take care of the media for you."

"Thanks coach…"

"It's not a problem, Mathias. Try not to feel too guilty about Novkovic, alright? Things like this happen a lot in this sport."

"Alright. See you later."

"See you." With that, my coach exited.

I took a shower like usual and got dressed before heading home to my apartment. While in the car, I received a phone call from a number that wasn't registered in my phone's contacts. I thought for a moment before answering.

"Hello?"

"_Hey rookie. It's Lodovico."_

"Oh hey… What do you need?"

"_I'm going to give you three weeks off. I know what it's like to be the fighter who fights and wins their opponents final fight, when they weren't aware that the other fighter was going to retire. It makes you feel bad, I know. Take a vacation, alright? Go home to Denmark or something. Take a break from fighting."_

"Thanks… I'm glad you understand."

"_It's not a problem, Mathias. Have a nice vacation."_

"Yeah… I'll talk to you in three weeks, I guess."

"_Yeah. Talk to you then."_

I hung up the phone and let out a sigh, tossing the electronic on the passenger seat. Once I got to my apartment, I grabbed it and exited my car, going into the apartment building and soon finding myself on the couch in my small residence.

I looked through my contacts out of boredom; a name caught my eye and soon an idea spun in my head, partially encouraged by what Lodovico had told me. "Dad" was the name of the contact. Perhaps I would go back to Denmark for a while. It had been about half a year since I had last been to my home country.

I called the number and placed the phone to my ear, waiting out the rings until it went to voicemail. I knew he wouldn't answer. When the phone beeped, I began to leave my message for my father.

"Hey dad; Mathias here. Lodovico gave me three weeks off for a vacation since I just had a rather… hard fight earlier tonight. I figured I would head back to Denmark for a while just to get home, you know? Give me a call back when you can. Love you, bye."

I sighed and closed my phone, putting it on the table beside the couch. When it rang around five minutes later, I was surprised. I retrieved my phone and looked at the caller ID; it wasn't my dad, but instead it was Berwald. His fight must've been over by now.

"Hej Berwald." I answered.

"_Hej. Y' alright? I saw on th' television in th' locker room that y' didn't attend your post-fight conference."_

"Yeah, I'm fine… Just bothered; Novkovic just retired. His personal life was a living hell apparently, and he couldn't deal with fighting anymore… It just bothers me that I won against him in his last fight; he's leaving the WCFL with such a negative reputation…"

"_Ah... I can understand that… I've been through m' fair share of retiring fights. Some of them were planned retirements, some weren't. Don't let it get t' y', alright? Things like this happen. And seeing that a lot of th' fighters up in ranks have been here for a while and have endured quite a bit, it's n' surprise that people like Novkovic just drop out of th' WCFL suddenly. Fighting takes its toll on personal lives and relationships especially."_

"Yeah, but…" I sighed. "Never mind…"

"_Just tell m', Mathias. Get it off your chest."_

"I just… I've gotten to thinking; now that I've beaten Novkovic… You're next in line for me to fight."

"_Think nothing of it. When I'm in th' cage, I'm your opponent. I'm not going t' hold back when I fight y', s' y' shouldn't hold back either. It's just like I'm another opponent t' y'."_

"But what'll it do to our relationship? I mean… Novkovic and Begovich were lovers; they fought each other and their relationship, from what I know, is falling or already has fallen apart…"

"_But that's them, Mathias. Not us. What reason d' w' have t' dislike each other in th' least? None."_

"True, but…"

"_Mathias, I promise y', win or lose in our fight, I will not leave y'. I'll never leave y'. I don't tell y' that I love y' for nothing."_

"… God, Berwald… You're too good to me."

"_I'll never b' less. I love y'."_

"I love you too, Berwald."

"_I'm glad…"_

I sighed. "I have three weeks off… Lodovico called and said it's a vacation of sorts. I'm probably going to go back to Denmark."

"_I have two weeks off; Johansson gave m' a good fracture in m' wrist."_

"Fractured your wrist? Did you lose to him?"

"_N'."_

"Berwald… Have you gotten it checked out to make sure it's nothing too major?"

"_I went and saw Dr. Bartholomues. H' already got it casted for m'."_

"Alright… Say, you ought to come to Denmark with me for a week or something. You'd get to meet my parents, if they ever have any time off."

"_That'd b' nice… Maybe w' could head up t' Sweden sometime while we're in Scandinavia… Next week is th' anniversary of m' father's death. I'd like t' visit his grave."_

"We can do that."

"_Alright. Well, give m' a call tomorrow, okay? We'll set up a flight and such t' head t' Denmark. I've got t' g' t' m' post-fight conference now."_

"Alright. Talk to you tomorrow, Berwald. Love you."

"_Love y' too."_

"Bye."

I hung up the phone and set it aside yet again, thinking for a moment. How the hell was I supposed to fight Berwald? More than likely, he was my next opponent. Berwald had said to think nothing of it; to think of him as nothing but another opponent once we were in the cage. But how was I supposed to do that?

I sighed; I would have to worry about that later. Right now, I was curious on how Alexander Johansson had fractured Berwald's wrist.

I grabbed the television remote and turned on the recorded WCFL event from tonight, fast forwarding it until I got to Berwald's fight. The introductions were said and the bell was soon rung for the first round.

Alexander Johansson was soft-bodied, and looked to be only around maybe five foot eight. He didn't look to be much of a striker; I knew for sure though that the man was a dangerous Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu practitioner, able to fight from any ground position and lock in a submission.

The two circled eachother slowly, in low stances. A few takedowns were attempted, but easily avoided or sprawled. Not a single punch had been thrown yet.

Finally, after about a minute of failed takedowns, Berwald shoved Alex up against the cage in the double-underhook clinch, and then used his massive strength to spin around and slam the Norwegian onto his back on the mat. Berwald was now in side mount, striking an elbow against Alex's side to wear his stamina down.

Alexander, using incredible flexibility, managed to lift one leg up and over Berwald's lower back, using it as leverage to pull himself out from under the Swede's torso. He then sat on Berwald's back and wrapped an arm around the neck of the other man, wrapping his legs around Berwald's abdomen and attempting to lock in a rear-naked choke. Berwald got to his feet, with Alex still on his back, attempting to choke him out. I could tell Berwald was weakening when he went onto one knee and hand, but soon got to his feet once again, and then fell backwards, crushing Johansson underneath his body and forcing the Norwegian to let go of the hold.

Berwald stood and shook off the submission, catching his breath. Alexander stood as well, obviously having gotten the wind knocked out of him from Berwald falling backwards onto him in an effort to free himself.

They circled for a few moments, now throwing punches, and a few kicks even came from Johansson. The round ended soon though. I fast forwarded through the commercials, and then put it back to play as the fight was started yet again. The bell was rung, signaling the start of the second round.

Berwald and Alexander both went for strong punches at the very same time, Alex's fist slammed into Berwald's wrist with a resonant crack. The two slid away from eachother, Berwald now holding his right hand low. I could see a slight deformity in the wrist which signaled that there was a fracture. He continued to fight as if nothing had gone wrong though.

Johansson attempted a right head kick, which was blocked and then grabbed by Berwald. The Swede took the Norwegian down, and soon locked in a knee bar, ending the fight when Johansson tapped. Berwald stood and raised his left fist, not doing much with his right hand whatsoever.

I shut off the television then sighed; how durable was Berwald? A fracture like that would be painful, I could imagine.

I closed my eyes, dozing off for what could have been minutes, hours, or the rest of the night. I wasn't too aware of the time when I was awoken by my phone ringing. Startled, I reached to get the phone. Once I had the phone in my hand, I opened it up and put it to my ear.

"Hello?" I answered.

"_Hey Mathias. It's dad."_

"Oh, hey dad. I wasn't expecting you to call at this hour; it's a six hour difference if you can't remember."

"_Did I wake you?"_

"Yeah… But no matter; what's up?"

"_You told me to call you. You left a voicemail?"_

"Oh! Yeah, that. I got three weeks off for a vacation of sorts. I wanted to go back to Denmark for a week or so; I miss_ København_, you know?"

"_That'd be great. I know your mother will love to see you."_

"Ah, and you guys can meet Berwald. He may come with me; though if he is coming we're going to go up to Sweden one of the days so that he can visit his father's grave."

"_His father is dead?"_

"Yeah. It's a sad story, actually. His dad killed himself when Berwald was only thirteen."

"_Oh wow… That is sad. Does he have a mother that he can stay with in Sweden, or will he be staying with us?"_

"Well, that's another sad story. Poor guy's mother ditched the family when Berwald was still a baby. So he'll be staying with us."

"_That's fine by me."_

"You sure? Because it almost sounded like you didn't want him staying with us at yours and mom's place."

"_I assure you, Mathias. I'm fine with it."_

"Alright. If you say so. I'll book a flight for tomorrow and head out to Denmark, and don't worry; I can remember where you guys live. It hasn't been that long since I was last there."

"_If you say so, Mathias. It's hard to believe it's been five years since you lived with us… You've grown up too fast, my boy. How tall are you now?"_

"Six feet."

"_You need to stop growing. Last time I checked you were only five-ten."_

"I was five-ten when I was still in school, dad. By the time I left Denmark for the WCFL, I was six feet. I don't think I'll be doing much more growing."

"_You better not. You're taller than me by three inches now, damn you."_

I laughed a bit. "You'll hate to see my boyfriend then."

"_How tall is he?"_

"Guess."

"_Six-one?"_

"Wrong."

"_How far was I off?"_

"Four inches."

"_He's six-five? Christ, Mathias, he's a giant!"_

"Well, his nickname is "The Beast" for a reason."

My dad chuckled a bit. _"Well, I can't wait to see you and this… giant of yours, Mathias. I'll let you get back to sleep now."_

"Bah, fuck sleeping. There's no way I'm going to be able to sleep after having talked to you about going back home."

"_At least try. Or better yet, make yourself a nice breakfast. You deserve it after winning your last fight."_

"Alright. I'll talk to you later dad; love you. And tell mom I said hi."

"_Can do, Mathias. Talk to you later."_

I hung up the phone and set it on the table, getting up and stretching my slightly sore limbs. I was glad to have had a fight where I wasn't completely beat to hell in the morning.

I made my way to my room, then into my room's bathroom, where I took a shower. I stayed in the shower for what must have been at least a half hour before getting out; long showers in the morning after a fight were always nice.

Once I was dried off and dressed, I made my way to the kitchen, where I made myself a meager bowl of cereal. Screw having a nice breakfast. That would be saved for some time when I was actually hungry.

For now, I was going to finish my cereal, and then wait until around seven or eight o'clock to call Berwald and talk to him about heading to Denmark for a week. And spending a day or two in Sweden.

Ah, maybe I would last my three week vacation. With help from Berwald, my parents, and my home country, that was.

Or maybe I was just going to go stir crazy like I had when I had spent two weeks recovering from surgery.

Both were possibilities.


	18. Memories of a Revolver

Around seven-thirty, I decided to call Berwald. I knew the Swede was an early riser; he was always up by eight-thirty no matter the day. I dialed his number on my phone and pressed the 'send' button, holding the phone up to my ear. As expected, he answered.

"_Morning Mathias."_

"Morning Berwald. You alright with a flight to Denmark tomorrow? I want to leave tomorrow so we have plenty of time to pack and do what is needed here today."

"_Yeah, that's fine. Come over t' m' place and we'll get our tickets online. Y' still don't have a computer at your place."_

"I know. When we get back to the states from Denmark, I'll go buy one."

"_Sounds good."_

"Alright. I'll head over to your house now."

"_See y' when y' get here, Mathias."_

"Bye."

I hung up then shoved my phone in my pocket, grabbing my car keys off the kitchen table then heading to the door, where I grabbed my shoes and slipped them on. I then exited my apartment, locking the door behind me. I went out to the parking lot and got in my car, soon getting on my way to Berwald's house.

It was only a twenty minute drive from my place to his, but I only got ten minutes in before disaster struck. When going through an intersection, someone in an SUV ran the light. I didn't quite know what had happened until my car came to a stop, upside down towards one of the crosswalks.

I maneuvered my way out the shattered window of my vehicle, crawling on my hands and knees through glass then soon getting to a small clearing, where I rolled over onto my back I took a moment to ponder; what the fuck just happened?

I glanced around, sitting up. My car was upside down, the passenger side mangled. There was a large SUV nearby, the front end smoking and heavily dented. I slowly got to my feet, realizing; hey, I just got in a car wreck.

Once on my feet, I looked at myself. I was scuffed up, with numerous cuts and scrapes. There was glass in my hands and arms, along with a bit in my legs. I reached up and felt the side of my face, cringing once I realized the gash that now adorned my cheek. People had gotten out of their cars by now, and were looking at the wreckage. One man approached me; a man I recognized to be Andelko Begovich.

"Dear lord, Mathias; are you alright?" He asked, placing a hand on my back and looking me in the eyes. I didn't realize how bad I was trembling.

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine… Is the other guy o-okay…?" I asked, looking over the wreckage of my car to see the other driver, who was standing by his car, stunned, but otherwise okay.

"I don't know." Andelko turned to the other driver. "Hey! You okay?" He questioned.

"Yeah, I'm alright! Just a bit scuffed up; how's he?" The other guy, who looked to be of high school age, responded.

"He's okay too." Andelko said. Not five seconds after he had spoken, multiple sirens were heard in the distance. Cops, an ambulance, and a fire truck were soon on the scene. Paramedics approached me.

"Are you alright, sir?" One of them asked.

"I-I'm fine… Just shaken… Holy hell, that just happened…" It was now materializing in my mind how lucky I was. I was led over to an ambulance, where I sat on the gurney and was tended to. As the paramedics worked to inspect my wounds, a cop approached.

"You were the driver of the overturned car, correct?" She asked.

"Yeah." I replied.

"What is your name?"

"Mathias Køhler."

"Are you from the United States?"

"No, I'm from Denmark."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was just… going through the intersection. It was a green light; in the middle of the intersection just… That guy ran the light and nailed me…"

"Where were you heading this morning, sir?"

"My boyfriend's house."

"Have you had anything alcoholic to drink?"

"No ma'am. I don't drink. I have to stay fit to fight; I'm in the WCFL."

"Alright. Now, do you know the man with the beard over there who said he was the first to approach the accident?"

"Yeah, that's Andelko. He's a friend."

"Okay. The other driver will end up with charges of failure to yield at a red light, speeding-"

"He was speeding?"

"Yes. He was going forty-five in a thirty mile-per-hour zone."

"Jesus… I'm lucky I just came out with some gashes…"

"You are very lucky. Is there anything in your car that you need to recover?"

"Yeah, I need my duffel bag. It was in the back seat."

"I'll get it for you and you can take it to the hospital."

"Thank you."

The female officer went over to the mangled wreckage that was my car, and retrieved my duffel bag from the back seat. She brought it over and set it on the floor in the back of the ambulance.

"Here you go, sir."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The paramedic finished up working on me, then looked at my cheek.

"That's going to need stitches, along with a few other cuts you recieved, alright? Just lay down on the gurney here and we'll take you to the hospital. We'll get you checked out and make sure that there aren't any more serious injuries." He explained. I nodded and lay down, sighing heavily. I retrieved my phone from my pocket, albeit painfully. My hands were cut up quite a bit from the glass.

I carefully dialed Berwald's number, trying not to aggravate the cuts on my hands.

"_Hello?" _The Swede answered.

"Hej Berwald. I'm just calling to tell you that I'll probably be a while before I make it to your house."

"_Why?"_

"I kind of got in a car crash."

"_What? Are y' okay, Mathias?"_

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just scraped up. I'm being taken to the hospital right now to get checked out for any other injuries."

"_Is your car totaled?"_

"Yep. I got broadsided by an SUV. My little car flipped upside down."

"_I'll pick y' up from th' hospital. That alright?"_

"Yeah, it's fine. I'll see you soon."

"_See y'."_

I hung up the phone and put it in my pants pocket, sighing heavily. This would be a great thing to try to explain to my parents.

When we arrived at the hospital, things went agonizingly slow, with lots of cleaning and stitching of my numerous cuts. I ended up with quite a few stitches and bandages, and a hospital bill which I had no trouble paying. Berwald arrived soon after I had been released. He approached me with a concerned look on his face.

"Oh man, Mathias… Y' have n' clue how much y' scared m' when y' said y' had gotten into a car wreck…" He said, wrapping his arms around me softly. I chuckled a bit. And hugged him back, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"I'm sorry, Berwald. Didn't mean to scare you." I replied.

"It's alright… Let's get your duffel bag in m' truck then we'll head t' m' place. Y' get everything from your car that y' needed?" He asked as we made our way to his truck.

"There wasn't really anything in there. Just my bag. A policewoman got it for me before I was taken here."

"Alright. Just making sure. You sure you're alright? You're limping a bit…"

"I'm fine, Berwald. Just a bit scraped up. Don't worry yourself, alright? Nothing is broken."

He sighed a bit as I tossed my bag in the back seat of his truck.

"Y' worry m', Mathias. Y' just can't seem t' get out of harm's way." He said, getting in the driver's seat as I slipped into the passenger seat.

As we pulled out of the hospital parking lot, I got a look at his casted wrist. The white cast looked to be such a burden, restricting his movement and forcing him to adjust.

"I watched your fight with Johansson… I can't believe you just endured a hit like that to your wrist." I commented. He shrugged a bit.

"I've withstood punches from Alexianos Kirzigian. A punch from a non-striker like Alexander was nothing."

"But it fractured your wrist. How did you just endure that pain? I know that had to hurt."

"I just ignore it."

I shook my head and sighed. "You're going to get seriously hurt someday doing that, you know."

"I know m' limits. I can endure a fractured wrist. But if something gets completely broken, I know I should stop now."

"What bones have you broken before?"

"… Okay, s' maybe I endured a few breaks in m' body when in official fights…"

"Berwald…"

"They were nothing too serious though; m' hand was broke one time because I hadn't let it heal from a training injury I had gotten…. M' thumb got dislocated before… I've had m' shoulder dislocated…"

"And you still managed to win these fights?"

"I'm dedicated."

"…"

"I'm sorry."

"You worry me now."

"I'll repeat; I'm sorry."

"It's okay… Just be a bit smarter, alright? No more enduring bones breaking or dislocating."

"I make n' promises."

"Berwald."

"What? Can y' blame m'? I'm a fighter, Mathias. I don't back down or forfeit."

"Sometimes you have to."

"Oh you're one t' talk, Mathias."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You've never forfeited due t' an injury; I know you've been injured in fights and completely disregarded them."

"Those were fractures, Berwald. Not breaks."

"But they were close t' becoming breaks, weren't they?"

"So what? I didn't endure breaks in my ribs; I endured fractures."

"I honestly don't see th' difference between th' injuries we've sustained."

"A fracture can be more easily recovered from than a break. If you continue to fight with a broken bone, you're going to end up making it worse for yourself. You know I don't want that for you. You know that."

The Swedish wrestler was silent for a few moments before replying. "It's not like it matters if I make it worse for myself."

"What do you mean by that?"

"M' dad… When h' would drink, years and years ago… H' had built up a tolerance t' alcohol. Had t' drink more and more, y' know? H' made it worse for himself, and it didn't matter t' him. S' why should m' injuries matter t' m'?"

"Berwald… You know it doesn't work that way. Injuries aren't like alcohol. You can't just build up a tolerance; your body will become brittle and easily broken if you don't seek proper treatment and allow yourself time to recover, and forfeit when you need to. I know, I know. You're prided on never backing down. But you can't always be "The Beast". You can't always appear invincible, because you're not. No one is. Not you, not me, not Kirzigian, not anyone."

Berwald sighed. "Can w' just drop th' subject?"

"No. Not until you understand that you can't keep fighting with injuries; do you want to end up crippled before you're forty?"

"Mathias, just drop it."

"No; I want you to understand-"

"Drop it, Mathias! Just let it g'! I don't give a fuck anymore!"

I went silent; Berwald had just yelled. Raised his voice. At me. But his voice quieted.

"I'm sorry… Didn't mean t'…" He trailed off.

"It was my fault…"

"N'… It's m' fault… Don't blame yourself, Mathias…"

I sighed and reached over, setting my hand on his thigh. "Are you okay? That's unlike you to get angry like that… You're not an argumentative person, Berwald…"

"N'… I'm not okay… I'll talk about it at th' house, alright?"

I nodded a bit. The rest of the ride to Berwald's house was silent. When we arrived, we headed inside and sat on the living room couch. I clasped my hands together and rested my elbows on my knees, turning my head to look at Berwald, who was tense and looked to be uncomfortable. I reached over, placing a hand on his back.

"What's been going on, Berwald?"

He opened his mouth slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. This must've been hard for him.

"… Around th' time of m' father's suicide, I get this way… S'… S' angry…" He started. "I feel s' much regret; I've told y' about it before… I never talked t' him as much as I should have… When m' father was drunk, h' would often become enraged by th' smallest thing and… I guess that kind of rubbed off on m'… I hate t' get angry, and I feel s' bad t' have yelled at y' like that… I just… I'm sorry, Mathias. I really am. I didn't mean t' yell…"

"Berwald… It's okay. I didn't know that your father's death made you that way… I kept being persistent, and just… It was the wrong time to be that way. I'm the one who should be apologizing. I'm the one who fucked up. Not you."

"But Mathias…"

"Berwald, I love you. I can't tell you what it felt like when you yelled at me, but I know you were justified. I know you had reason. I was in the wrong… Can you forgive me?"

He turned and hugged me tightly. "It's impossible for m' not t'."

I smiled a bit and wrapped my arms around him, placing a kiss to the side of his face.

"I love y', Mathias…" He said.

"Love you too." I responded, placing a hand on his cheek. I gently rubbed my thumb against the pale skin, noting the fact that the dark circles under his eyes were heavier and darker than when I had last noticed.

"You getting enough sleep, Berwald?" I asked.

"N'… Not at all." He muttered, looking away.

"Let's book our flight to Denmark then take a nap, alright? I'll sleep with you."

"Anything t' lay with y' for a while." He said. I chuckled a bit then gave him a peck on the lips, before we both stood from the couch and headed to his study, where his laptop was. We spent about a half hour in there, booking first-class tickets for a flight straight to Copenhagen.

As Berwald and I headed to his bedroom to sleep, I pondered; how would people react to seeing me when we were in my home country? My father had told me I was gaining fame in Copenhagen. And that was before I had won the fight against the rather famous "anti-hero" Novak Novkovic.

I kicked off my shoes beside his bed and lay down; he did the same, taking off his glasses and setting them on the nightstand, then joining me on the rather comfortable mattress.

He rolled onto his side and looked to me as I propped myself up on one elbow, turning towards him. I gently reached one hand up, trailing my fingers across the side of his face. He visibly relaxed into the touch, and I smiled. His tired eyes looked up at me.

"Y' know, I love it when y' smile…" He muttered. I chuckled a bit as I scooted myself a tad closer to the Swede. I ran the hand on his face down his neck, raising an eyebrow when I felt a rather large scar under my fingers. I looked to the area, and sure enough, there was a scar there. It looked like something you would receive from a cut; not a little cut, but a deep one that would have been painful to receive.

I glanced up to Berwald. "How'd you get this scar on your neck…?" I questioned quietly. He rolled onto his back then brought up his left hand, feeling the scar with a slight frown.

"Year before m' dad died… H' attacked m' when h' was drunk… I… I had broken a window in th' house… I-I hadn't meant t' d' it… but… Dad was drunk and… h' took a piece of th' glass and… H' tried t' slit m' throat with it… Of course… h' was drunk and didn't cut m' in th' right place but… Th' scar never goes away… It… It never will…" He explained.

"Berwald… If he caused you so much pain, why didn't you report any of it?" I asked.

"I loved him, Mathias. I couldn't send m' father t' prison… I couldn't just..." Berwald struggled to continue, and I was practically feeling his pain. I found it hard to fathom; Berwald's father had hurt him, and yet Berwald had never done anything to stop him or get him arrested purely because he loved the man who raised him.

"But… Didn't people ask about the injuries?" I probed, hoping to hear of someone, anyone in Berwald's past who cared about the Swede's wellbeing. But I received no such positive answer.

"N'… N' one bothered… Just figured that th' lanky kid did something stupid t' hurt himself again…"

I found it hard to keep myself composed as Berwald continued to speak.

"I didn't really have anyone t' talk t'… I never talked much regardless… Y' have t' understand; I never did anything for myself… I always did everything for Peter, and m' father, even though h' was th' man t' cause m' so much pain… I thought, maybe if I could bring some kind of pride t' the family, h' would realize his wrongs and try t' right them; I thought maybe if I did something right for once in m' god damned life that h' would treat m' like his son… Peter was lucky; h' never got th' worst of m' dad… I always protected him; if Peter did something wrong, I blamed it on myself, because I-I didn't want Peter t' get hurt. M' brother is six years younger than m'; I didn't want m' dad abusing someone s' young. I-I couldn't have him hurting Peter when h' was only five or six years old… G-God, I took th' blame for everything…"

"Do you regret protecting Peter?" I asked, gently wiping away a few of the Swedish man's tears.

"N'… I don't regret protecting m' brother… Look where h' is now; he's a student at a prestigious college, studying for a high-paying job… Who knows how h' would b' today if I had let him get hurt in th' past…? He's making something of himself; something more than I could ever b'…"

"… Berwald, you're a successful fighter… You fight for your father, and you fight for Peter… You also fight for Sweden, your home country… You've made something of yourself that is so hard to achieve… Memories like the ones you have; you don't let them hold you back when you're in the cage… I know that if I had a past like yours, it'd weight down on me so much that I probably wouldn't be here right now… I would have ended it a long time ago."

"…" Berwald was quiet for a moment before he sat up and reached into the bedside table's single drawer, and pulled out a black box. He opened the box and pulled out something that scared the hell out of me. A loaded revolver.

"Berwald, what're you doing?" I asked, sitting up. He slowly put the gun in my hands.

"T-Take this gun, and d' something with it, Mathias. Get it away from m'… Please… I-I don't want t' end up like…" He trailed off, unable to continue speaking through his shuddering breaths. I stared at the gun in my hand, shocked.

"Berwald… Where did you get this…?" I asked.

"I-It was… m-m' father's… Th' one h'… h' used t'…"

I felt my heart sink; this was the gun Berwald's father had killed himself with. I had never held a gun before, let alone one this significant.

"Why… Why do you have it?"

"I-Incase I… ever succumbed t' any irrational thoughts…"

I placed the gun on the bedside table closest to me, then turned back to the Swede and wrapped my arms around him in a tight hug.

"Oh God, Berwald… Please, don't say things like that… Please… You have no idea how much it would kill me inside if you decided to commit suicide…"

His large hands clutched the back of my shirt as he sobbed into my shoulder. I held him tighter, resisting the tears that brimmed my eyes. How could Berwald have lived alone for so long and not have ended his life? How could he have lived with those kinds of memories harming him? I simply couldn't comprehend something like that.

It took a while for my boyfriend to calm down. After a half hour, he had lain down and was finally at rest, sleeping. I was awake, lying next to him, gently stroking his face with callused fingers. He was such an incredible man; so tormented by memories of his past, yet managing to be a very successful fighter in the World-Class Fighting League. He was such a contradiction; seemingly cold and harsh on the outside to someone who didn't know him, but once you did know him you realized how soft he really was and how nice he could be. It was so hard to understand how he had lasted this long.

He had suffered years of abuse from his alcoholic father, who he somehow found in his heart to love. There was so much pain he had gone through; so many unnecessary scars. I just wanted to hold him and make sure he was okay. I just wanted to be sure that he survived. I loved him; I loved him so much. I never wanted to see him in pain, or cry like he had today. I never wanted him to break apart and kill himself.

The thought scared me to no end; he was daring enough to have the weapon loaded and in his bedside table, ready to fire at any moment if he wanted to end his life. I looked over my shoulder to the gun, still sitting on the other bedside table. I glanced back to Berwald then sighed.

I leaned down and placed a kiss on the side of his face then got up, grabbing the gun. I slipped on my shoes and went out of the room, grabbing Berwald's coat off the hanger by the door to his house. I then headed out the door, shoving the gun in the coat pocket as to not raise any unnecessary suspicion in any passerby.

I knew there was a pond nearby. It would be a good resting place for such an item as this; Berwald didn't want it, and I didn't want it either. Rather than sell something that had been used to end a man's life, I would dispose of it the easy way. Simply toss it into the lake and be done with it.

When I got to the pond, there was no one around. Who would be going to a half-frozen pond in the middle of January? Only me, of course.

I approached the water, removing the gun from Berwald's coat pocket. It was dull silver, and there looked to be little flakes of blood on it from years and years ago. Berwald's father's blood, I supposed.

I sighed a bit and reared my arm back before chucking the revolver into the water. It splashed as it hit the water, sinking quickly without a trace that it ever even existed. I stood there for a few moments; it was over. The gun was gone, and I had no need to worry that Berwald would kill himself with it.

I turned away from the water and began to walk back to Berwald's house, which I could see in the distance. I hope that he hadn't woken up in the half hour I'd been gone; he would probably be worried about me, seeing that there was a missing Mathias and revolver.

When I returned, entering through the front door, Berwald was indeed awake. He approached me and hugged me tightly.

"Where'd y' g'?" He asked.

"I got rid of the gun. Now come on, back to bed for you. You still seem tired as hell." I replied. He nodded and we returned to his bedroom, lying down with eachother once again. I curled up in his muscular arms, placing a kiss on his lips.

"I did what you told me to do." I said. "I got rid of the gun, and now we both don't have to worry about it."

"What'd y' d' with it?" He questioned.

"Tossed it in the pond. Never going to see it again."

"Good…" He muttered, placing a second chaste kiss on my lips. I smiled.

"Now sleep, Berwald… You need it."

"Ja…"

We both closed our eyes, and were soon drifted off into the unconscious world of slumber. When we awoke in what would probably be the afternoon, there would be a lighter feeling in the air.

One that would remain as long as I was with Berwald.


	19. Ring

The plane ride to Demark the next day was rather uneventful.

For nearly the entire eight hours on the plane, Berwald was sleeping. The man had finally given into the tiredness he had accumulated over the past few days that I hadn't been there to practically force him to sleep. I think he felt comforted by my presence; not as alone as he usually was.

I, for one, went in between listening to my mp3 player, sleeping, or just staring out the window beside me. We were offered food every once in a while, but I wasn't hungry. And besides, we would be arriving in Denmark around dinner time anyways. My parents would most likely have something prepared.

When our flight landed, I shook Berwald's shoulder gently to wake him, and he slowly came to, rubbing his eyes a bit. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his glasses, putting them on. I smiled a bit and reached over, fixing a piece of hair at the side of the man's head that was out of place.

"Have you ever been to Denmark, Berwald?" I asked, curious as to whether or not my boyfriend had been in my home nation.

"N'. Been t' Sweden, Norway, and th' United States. That's it." He responded.

"You've been to Norway?"

"Ja… I went t' a training camp there a few years ago."

"What'd you train there for?"

"Jiu-Jitsu… Needed t' learn some more submissions, s' I got in contact with a retired fighter from there. Was in Oslo for two weeks out of the six I had t' train for m' fight… Don't remember who I was fighting though."

"I wouldn't expect you to. You've fought so many people."

"Yeah… I know."

We didn't have any carry-on luggage with us, so it was a straight go from our seats right off the plane and out of the gate. I stretched a bit.

"Alright… Let's go get our luggage." I said. "The Beast" nodded, and soon we were heading to the luggage pickup area. While waiting for our bags, we were recognized by a few passerby.

"Woah, that's Berwald Oxenstierna and Mathias Køhler! Dad, they're in the WCFL!" A young boy with a British accent said, pointing us out. Berwald and I glanced over as the kid half-dragged his father over to us.

"Wow, you guys are even taller in person…" The young boy said. Berwald and I chuckled.

"I'm guessing you're a fan of ours, right?" I asked.

"Yeah, really! I've watched every one of your fights so far, Mathias. And I've watched a lot of yours too, Berwald. You two are incredible!" The kid was rather excited; I couldn't help but smile.

"Thank y'. I'm glad t' see a fan like y' out here." Berwald replied, messing up the kid's hair with his uninjured hand.

"You hurt your other hand when you were fighting Alexander, didn't you, Berwald?" The kid asked, pointing out Berwald's casted hand. Berwald nodded.

"Ja. But don't worry; I'll be able t' fight in th' next WCFL event."

"Alright Benjamin, let's get going. We have a flight to catch." The kid's father interrupted.

"Aw… Alright. Thank you for talking with me, sirs!" Benjamin said politely to Berwald and I.

"It's not a problem. Run along now." I replied. The kid and his father left and I smiled at Berwald.

"Well, that's a first for me." I commented as Berwald grabbed both of our suitcases, one in each hand. I quickly took mine from his casted hand, shaking my head a bit.

"No lifting with that hand, Berwald. You'll hurt yourself more than you already have." I warned. He nodded a bit, most likely disregarding my warning. In one ear and out the other, I supposed.

"We're taking a taxi t' your parent's house, correct?"

"Yeah. Let's go. I'm sure my parents will love to meet you."

Once we had departed from the airport and made it to my parent's house, my heart had started to beat a bit quicker than usual out of nervousness. I hadn't seen my parents in quite some time; not to mention the last time they had seen me I didn't have a 6'5" Swedish man beside me with my hand in his.

I knocked on the front door chewing on my lip slightly. When the door was opened, I found myself wrapped tightly in the arms of my mother.

"Ah, it's so good to see you Mathias!" He exclaimed, grinning. I chuckled a bit and hugged my mom back; she was a short yet strong woman. Being only 5'1", she was towered over by my boyfriend beside me. Once she released me from her hug, she turned to Berwald.

"You must be my son's boyfriend. Berwald, right?" She asked. "The Beast" nodded, offering his uninjured hand to shake.

"It's a pleasure t' meet y'." He greeted as my mother clasped his large hand.

"Come on inside; Mathias, your father is in his office finishing up some paperwork. Just make yourselves at home and I'll go get him." My mother told us as she walked in. We followed her inside; it wouldn't be hard for me to make myself at home.

I set my luggage beside the light blue couch in the living room, and Berwald did the same silently. I took a seat on the couch, and the Swedish man took his place next to me. I noted how tense he seemed.

I brought my hand up and placed it on the back of his neck, gently massaging it with my fingers.

"So tense… Relax, Berwald. I can tell my mom already likes you." I said. Berwald sighed and leaned over, placing a kiss on my cheek.

"What about your dad…? That's who I'm worried about liking m'…" He muttered.

"He's a good guy; don't worry about it." I replied, taking my hand away from his neck and setting it on his thigh. He placed his hand over mine, forcing himself to relax a bit.

As my mother and father entered the room, my dad looked a bit stunned when he saw Berwald.

"You look much more intense in person." He commented. Berwald stood and offered his hand to the other man.

"You aren't th' first t' say s'." He responded. My father shook his hand firmly. Once their hands had separated, Berwald sat back down. My parents then both took a seat on the couch adjacent to ours.

"So what's your full name again, Berwald? I can't remember it." My dad said. I resisted the urge to tense up; the interrogation of my boyfriend had begun. Great.

"M' name's Berwald Oxenstierna, sir."

"Just call me Dennis, please. I get called 'sir' enough at work."

"Alright."

"Speaking of work, have you ever done anything other than fight?"

"Haven't really done anything significant other than fight. Did a bit of bodybuilding but didn't really get into it enough t' make a lot of money."

"I would have expected bodybuilding from you. You're incredibly built."

"Just comes with th' amount of training I d'."

"How long have you been in the WCFL?"

"Eight or nine years."

"So you're pretty experienced when it comes to fighting. What's your record?"

"36 wins, 4 losses."

"That's impressive, knowing the level of competition you guys fight at. Do you know who you'll be fighting next?"

Berwald and I looked to eachother, and then merely lifted our hands, pointing to eachother.

"You're fighting eachother next? You're kidding, right?" My dad asked, a bit stunned.

"It's not confirmed but there's a high chance of it. Lodovico just gives me tougher and tougher opponents; naturally, Berwald would be next for me to fight, after I've won six fights that no one really expected me to win." I explained.

"Well, I would tell you not to hurt eachother too bad, but it's your guys' jobs to beat the hell out of your opponent, whoever it may be. Just don't kill eachother; that's all I ask. You two seem like such a good couple."

Berwald and I both smiled; whether it was out of happiness that someone had complimented us, or for the fact that my dad was accepting of my Swedish boyfriend, I had no clue.

"Well, come on to the kitchen. We've got dinner made; you guys hungry?" My mother asked as she stood. Berwald and I got to our feet as well.

"After that flight, I know I am." I responded to my mother. Once in the kitchen, the smell of the Danish food I had been deprived of for nearly a year was the first thing I noticed. American food wasn't bad, I had to admit; but it was nothing like the cuisine in Denmark. Especially what my mother made.

I kind of wondered how my busy mother managed to know how to cook, but I always disregarded it. There was no questioning her; she was a tough little woman who had managed to get through life with hardly any spare time. I loved her to death.

When my parents, Berwald, and I had finished eating, my father returned to his office. I sighed a bit out of disappointment when he left the vicinity to do his work, but when my mom tossed me the keys to her luxury car, my disappointment was gone.

"Go out and have some fun around Copenhagen. Go out to a bar or something; I don't want to hold you two down here in this boring old place." The 5'1" woman said. I smiled and gave her a hug.

"Thanks mom. We'll be back." I told her. She nodded and walked to the kitchen to clean up. I grabbed Berwald's hand and led the Swede out the front door.

"You don't mind if we go out and have a few drinks, do you, Berwald?" I asked. He shook his head.

"I'll have a beer or two… Just won't get drunk. And I won't let y' get drunk either." He replied as we got to my mom's car and got in.

"I won't get drunk; trust me. I know better. We may be on vacation, but I have no plans of getting completely smashed the first day I'm back in Denmark." I said as I put the key in the ignition and started the car.

We ended up going to a local bar; just a small place not too far from where my parents lived. We walked into the building and headed over to the bar, taking two stools towards the end of it. We ordered two bottled beers, one for each of us. I wasn't big on beer, but hey, I was happy to be in Denmark. Celebrating with a drink or two wouldn't hurt anything.

The bartender gave us our drinks, then went to attending to a group of rowdy men who looked to be around Berwald's age. I chuckled a bit, shaking my head before taking a swig of my alcoholic beverage. Berwald took a drink of his as well before speaking.

"What're y' chuckling about?" He asked.

"The idiots behind you. They're drunk off their asses and it's only seven-thirty." I replied.

"Some people just never learn… They'll b' regretting drinking s' much in th' morning, I'm sure."

"Yeah, I bet they will."

We shared small talk for a little while, drinking our beers, minding our own business. It was nice; though the douchebags I had mentioned before decided to ruin it for us. They spoke Danish, of course, which Berwald had some trouble understanding. I understood though.

"_Hey, you're those rich ass guys from that one fighting league! Why don't you go to some upscale place and go fuck yourselves?" _The main instigator taunted.

"_I'm not looking for trouble, man. Just calm down, alright?" _I advised. I really wasn't looking for trouble; I was just having a drink with my boyfriend. Apparently, Berwald and I being there bothered those drunken idiots so much, that they wanted to fight. I didn't quite understand how they thought they could win a fight against trained MMA fighters, but then again, they were intoxicated.

"_Fight me, pansy! No rules here to stop you from getting your ass beat!" _The same instigator got mere inches from me, reeking of heavy liquor. I shook my head and got out my wallet, tossing some money on the bar to pay for me and my boyfriend's drinks just in case we had to leave the building on short notice. I then stood from my seat.

"_I won't violate my contract no matter how far I am from the WCFL. Go bother someone else." _ I tried to wave the inebriated man off, but he didn't budge. And when he threw a punch at me, it was all too easy to block. I shoved him away with a rather light push kick to the stomach, which made the man stumble backwards.

The man's friends were next to try to hit me; they were merely pushed away as well. When the staff of the bar got involved, the men were kicked out. I sighed and sat back down next to Berwald, who hadn't budged a bit during the entire incident. He simply took another drink of his beer then sighed.

"This happen a lot?" I asked him.

"N'. Just used t' drunks."

"Are you referencing your father…?"

"Ja… Those guys weren't even drunk compared t' how m' dad used t' get."

"Seriously?"

"Ja…" He muttered. He took a swig of his nearly finished beer then set it down.

"That's nuts… How… How did you deal with a guy that drunk? I mean, not that I mean to offend you or anything but…"

"I just ignored him, most of th' time. If h' wasn't trying t' hurt m', I was staying away from him. Simple."

"I guess… Can't say I really have had much experience with drunks."

"B' glad y' don't."

"I guess I should be, huh?"

He nodded then finished off what was left of his beverage. My beer was still half full. I took a drink as Berwald sighed, leaning against the bar with his hand on his chin.

"Something wrong, Berwald?" I questioned, placing a hand on his back.

"I'm fine… Just thinking." He responded. I nodded.

"Okay. Just making sure."

After a little bit, I finished my beer and my boyfriend and I exited the bar. When we got into my mom's car, I noticed Berwald had a distant look in his eyes. He was thinking about something; something that bothered him. I knew Berwald; no matter how intense he was, when he spaced out, something was up.

On our way down the road, I glanced to the Swede.

"I'm worried about you, Berwald. I know that look. What's wrong?"

He looked down and shifted his position, shaking his head a bit.

"I'm sorry, Mat... Just got a lot on m' mind." He muttered after a few moments of silence, reaching over and placing a hand on my thigh.

"You want to talk about it when we get back to my parents?"

"Ja… It'd probably b' best if I spoke m' mind, hm?"

"Yeah… You know I'll do my best to help you out. I am your boyfriend after all."

A small smile appeared on his face. "You're a good one; I'll tell y' that… I love y', Mat."

"Love you too, Berwald."

When we got back to the house, we were greeted by my mother.

"Didn't take you long to come back." She commented.

"We just went out to a bar and both had a beer. Some drunken guys who were there decided to try to pick a fight… But they got kicked out before they got hurt." I explained.

"Why did they want to fight you two, of all people?"

"I'm thinking it's because Berwald and I are a bit more financially well-off than most people. And the guys were drunk; they probably won't remember what happened anyways."

"Point taken. Anyways, I took your luggage to the guest bedroom down the hall. I'm assuming you two must be jet lagged from the flight over."

"I'm a bit jet lagged. I think I'll just lay down for a bit."

"Alright. If you need anything, I'm sure you can remember where everything is, Mathias. This house hasn't changed in ten years."

"I know. Come on, Berwald. I'm sure you're tired too." I knew he wasn't tired as much as he was stressed, but my mother didn't need to know.

I led my boyfriend to the bedroom down at the end of the hallway and shut the door behind us once we were in. I kicked off my shoes then sat on the edge of the bed. Berwald did the same, sitting next to me.

"So what's on your mind, Berwald?" I asked. He let out a heavy sigh.

"Just a lot of things… with th' anniversary of m' father's death in two days, I just… it's a somber thing. And t' saw people at that bar s' drunk… reminded m' of him… I didn't mind going out t' th' bar with y', honestly. Just that…" He trailed off shaking his head.

"Those guys bothered you at the wrong point in time." I finished his sentence.

"Ja…"

"Anything else bothering you?" I asked, knowing there was more to his mood than what he had just told me.

"It's… It's nothing I want t' say…"

"What do you mean?"

"I'd prefer it if y' didn't push th' envelope here…" he advised. I nodded.

"Alright. You don't have to say. But you know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I know. I love y' t' death, Mathias… I really d'. You're s' good t' m'… It's only natural for m' t' question why y' chose someone like m'. I'm not extremely handsome, I didn't grow up with a good life… I mean, I've been borderline suicidal for years…"

"Berwald…" I wrapped my arms around the taller man's neck, placing my forehead to his. "You're perfect to me. You're the most handsome man I've ever met; I'm not kidding… as for your past? I don't care if you had a horrible childhood; that's in the past. What matters to me is now. I love you with every fiber of my being… I don't want you to kill yourself. I don't want anything to happen to you… You deserve so much better than what you've gotten in your life… You're not like a lot of people; you're… you're precious to me. And I know, it's odd to call someone who is twenty-nine years old, six-foot five and two-hundred twenty pounds precious, but it's all I can think of…"

"How did I manage t' appeal t' someone like y', Mathias…? How did I get s' lucky t' get a man like y'…?" He asked, wrapping his arms around my waist and placing a soft kiss to my lips. I smiled into it, gently pushing the older man down onto his back. When I pulled away slightly in order to speak, Berwald gave me no time to say a word before rolling over and pressing his lips to mine.

When we separated, he chuckled a bit.

"Were y' going t' say something, Mathias?" He asked.

"I was going to ask if you were tired at all, but I'm going to guess because you slept the entire flight here that you're not exactly tired at all." I replied.

"I could sleep more if I wanted t'. What about y'; are y' tired?"

I nodded a bit. "I didn't get all that much sleep on the plane. But sleep can wait. Right now, I like where this is going." I said. I smirked as I pulled the Swede down into yet another kiss. His lips tasted faintly of the beer he had drunk at the bar, but I didn't care. Berwald's mind was off of whatever else was bothering him.

Our moment, of course, had to be interrupted by a knocking coming from the closed door. I sighed as Berwald rolled off of me, laying his head on the pillow and placing his callused hands on his stomach. I sat up.

"Doors unlocked." I said, loud enough so that whichever parent was behind the door could hear. The door clicked open, revealing my father.

"What's up, dad?" I asked, hoping the other man didn't notice how disheveled Berwald and I looked. He had interrupted us in the middle of an intimate moment.

"Can I talk to Berwald for a moment?" My father asked. Berwald raised an eyebrow and stood, heading over to the door.

"Don't worry, Mathias. I won't keep him too long. I know what you two were doing; heard every bit of conversation. These walls aren't exactly soundproof." My father informed us, receiving red-tinted cheeks from both my boyfriend and I. My father merely laughed a bit and led Berwald out, most likely to his office, which was a few rooms down from mine. There was no chance that I could listen in on what they talked about.

I lay down, placing my head on the pillow at the head of the bed and closing my eyes. I had to admit, sleep sounded pretty enticing right about now. But Berwald sounded pretty enticing as well. Decisions, decisions.

I waited for about a half hour before the door opened once again. I forced my eyes open; I had just about been asleep. Berwald approached the bed then lay down next to me.

"What'd my dad want from you?" I asked, rolling onto my side and facing the larger man.

"Just asked m' a few more things. More personal things… About m' family and such. Y' know th' deal."

"Yeah… did he ask anything else, or was it just about your family?"

"H' asked a few other questions… I think your dad knows people too well; h' figured out exactly what I wouldn't tell y' earlier, without even knowing m'."

"He did study phycology a bit in college. So… Are you going to tell me what you were going to say earlier but told me not to be persistent about?"

He sighed a little, shifting his position slightly. "I don't know if I should… I mean, your father told m' it was okay if I did but… I don't know if I can say it."

"Say what?"

The Swede chewed on his lip and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Mathias…" His breathing became a bit shaky, and he mumbled something, but I didn't quite catch it.

"What was that, Berwald? I didn't hear you."

He reached into his pocket, bringing out a closed fist. He held it out to me, then opened it, revealing something that shocked me.

A ring.

"Will y'… Will y' marry m', Mathias?"

I should have seen this coming; I was caught so off guard. It was hard to respond. I loved Berwald; I really did. Marriage was a big step; a huge step actually. Was I seriously that good to Berwald? Was I really the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?

I swallowed hard then took a deep breath. Quick decision, Mathias. Make it quick; make it God damn quick so that Berwald doesn't think you don't want to marry him.

I was practically arguing with myself; one part of me said it was too early and that a marriage so soon would only make things worse for us, but the other part of me desperately wanted that ring on my finger.

I looked down to the ring, then to Berwald's face. One more glance to the ring, then a nod.

"Yes… Yes, Berwald, I will."

I had made up my mind.

We both grinned and he slipped the ring onto my left ring finger, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"How long… How long have you had the ring?" I asked my fiancé. He smiled sheepishly.

"Two weeks… I just… I wanted t' wait until th' right time, and when your dad brought it up… I just thought I should try… I love y', Mathias. Just saying those three words isn't enough… I don't care if w' haven't been together for that long, I just… I never want t' b' without y'. You're m' life, Mathias. You've convinced m' not t' kill myself, and y' treat m'… just… s' well. It's indescribable."

"But I understand. It's the same way from me to you, Berwald… I'll do anything for you, and love you to death. To be honest, I hesitated when you asked, but… I know what I want, Berwald. And I want you by my side for as long as we live. The part of my mind that said it's too early; let's just say it lost that war in my head." I chuckled slightly and placed a chaste kiss on my husband-to-be's lips.

"How will your mother react t' this?" Berwald asked. I gave a slightly horrified look.

"I'm kind of scared to know, honestly. Should we just tell her now and get it over with?"

"Ja… Your mom can't b' too bad, can sh'?"

"Oh you have no idea."


	20. Closure

Berwald and I headed out to the living room where my mom was lounging on the couch, watching television. When we approached, she looked up and smiled.

"What do you need, boys?" She asked. Without a word, I held my left hand up with the back of it facing her, giving her a perfect view of my ring. She went wide-eyed and stood, grabbing my hand and inspecting the ring on my finger.

"Oh my God, Mathias… Is this what I think it is?" she asked. I grinned.

"Yeah, it is."

My mother hugged me tightly, letting out a squeal that I knew was out of happiness.

"Oh, my little boy is getting married!" She exclaimed. I laughed and glanced to Berwald.

"Looks like soon you'll have in-laws." I said. He smiled and chuckled. My mother looked to him, having to tilt her head backwards to look him in those intense blue eyes. The height difference was kind of funny; Berwald's sixteen inch height difference over my mother was something to behold. When the 5'1" Danish woman that was my mother wrapped her arms tightly around Berwald, the feeling must have been something completely new to Berwald.

He hesitated, but managed to return the embrace; it was like a barrier had been broken. Berwald, not having ever experienced anything like care from a parental figure, was now receiving such care from my family.

"I know you'll be good to my son, Berwald." My mother said as she let go of the Swede. Berwald nodded.

"It's th' least I can d' after all that he's done for m'." He responded, a hand on the shoulder of the woman.

"Do tell." My mother obviously wanted to know all that I'd done for him to make him want to marry me. Berwald hesitated, giving me a glance. I nodded to him.

"Go ahead; tell her everything." I said. Berwald looked back to my mother and sighed, leading her over to the couch. I took a spot on the other couch, definitely wanting to watch my mom and fiancé interact.

"Well..." Berwald began. "Your son has done a lot for m'… Some things speak for themselves; he gives m' someone t' talk t' and t' care about… But others… Others n' one ever expects. I've… I've had a rough life. M' dad was an abusive drunk who killed himself when I was thirteen… M' mom… I've never known her. Sh' left when I was young. Didn't even know I had a brother until m' dad was granted custody over him when I was six… But anyways, it was rough growing up. For years, through wrestling, I let out my sorrows on the mats… And when I joined th' WCFL, th' cage was where m' sorrows were spent…"

"For years, m' memories have haunted m'. Memories of m' father; I loved him but… I never showed it. Not until it was too late… A few months ago, Mathias came into m' life. H' was a new guy at th' gym… Never paid much attention t' him at first but… There was a magnetism about him that I just couldn't escape. Eventually, I asked him out. I didn't expect for him t' b' s'… s' good. I just… Mathias learned of m' history, and learned of m' family… I broke down in his arms; h'… h' didn't shrug m' away. H' comforted m'…"

"I've been suicidal for years… I hate t' admit it, but it's true. I even had th' gun that m' dad killed himself with sitting in m' bedside table for…. for years. One day, Mathias found a scar on m' neck; it was a scar that m' father had given t' m'… W' got t' talking, and I explained how I felt s'… s' much regret. Why hadn't I done anything t' save m' father? Why did I d' everything t' protect m' brother, when I should have protected m' father from himself? Those are th' kinds of things I asked…"

"I knew I couldn't risk having that gun in m' bedside table anymore, because Mathias… h' cares about m' more than I could ever have imagined. I took th' gun out of th' drawer and gave it t' him; told him t' get rid of it… He set it on th' other table and allowed m' t' break down once again in his arms… I fell asleep eventually, but when I woke up, h' wasn't there. I waited, and h' soon came back… H' had gone and thrown th' gun that m' father had killed himself with in a pond… What I had kept for years, took him hardly any time t' understand. What burdens I carry, he's made efforts t' get rid of them. I love him t' death… Your son is… He's amazing. He's saved m' life; I had been planning t' kill myself… I hope y' understand how much your son means t' m'…"

My mother simply stared at the Swede, and hand on her chest over her heart.

"Oh Berwald… I'm so glad he's done all that for you… You're a good man; he'll do anything for you, and I will too… You're practically family. I know now that you've never had a good family, or at least one that cared for you… So my husband Dennis and I will make sure that you have that family that you never experienced." She explained. Berwald looked down, swallowing hard. He them looked back up, wrapping his arms around my smaller mother.

"Thank y'… Thank y' s' much…" He muttered. My mother smiled.

"You're welcome."

My lips curved into a smile at the scene of my fiancé and my mother hugging like that. When Berwald unwrapped his large arms from around my mother, he sighed.

"I'm glad y' and your husband have accepted m'… You're… You're very kind people."

"Think nothing of it, dear. You deserve care just like everyone else."

When silence came upon us three, it wasn't very awkward. After a little while though, Berwald and I headed back to our bedroom and lay down, finally deciding on sleeping. Before he and I knew it, it was the day we were going to head to Sweden.

In the morning, things seemed very calm, but Berwald seemed to do everything slower-paced than usual. This was a very sentimental day for him; a day he would never forget. I knew I had to be there for him, which wasn't hard to do considering I'd been there for him ever since we had gotten together.

I approached my mother, who was standing by the door, looking out the window at the rain outside.

"Weather's taken a turn, huh?" I said, standing beside her.

"Yeah… You and Berwald be careful while you're driving to the airport, okay?"

"We will be… Man, I have no clue what it's like where we're heading. Berwald booked the flight to this town Nyköping in Sweden when he got up this morning… Apparently from there we're going to make our way by car to some little place called Björkvik. That's where his dad was buried..."

"What time are you two leaving?" She asked, looking to me. I glanced at the watch on my wrist.

"We'll be leaving here in a couple minutes. We'll be back tomorrow though, most likely." I replied.

"Alright." She sighed faintly then hugged me. "It's so hard to believe you've grown up so fast, Mathias… You used to be my little boy; now you're getting married and becoming a successful fighter…"

I smiled and softly wrapped my arms around the short woman. "Don't worry mom. I'm still your little boy, just not so little physically. I'm still your child no matter what I do."

She chuckled a bit and reached up, running a hand through my messy hair.

"I can remember when you were short enough that I could ruffle your hair and not have to reach so high up…"

"Oh God, you used to do that all the time, mom… You still do it." I said as she did as she spoke, ruffling up my hair with her hand. She grinned.

"You make me feel old, Mathias."

"I'm sure I do, mom. It's been twenty-three years since you had me… How old are you now, fifty-four?"

"Fifty-six, actually. I'm old as dirt."

"And yet you seem so youthful in personality… I think dad's the one who acts his age; he's almost sixty now, right?"

"He's fifty-nine."

"Wow… You guys make me feel so young." I commented, laughing a bit. My mom smiled and shook her head, placing a fake slap to my cheek.

"Shush. We don't need to know about how young you are, or how old me and your dad are." She said jokingly.

"Hey, at least Berwald's the middle man here. He's turning thirty in June."

"Don't remind m'." Berwald piped up as he walked in the room. I looked to him.

"You ready to go?" I asked.

"Yeah. Let's g'." Berwald headed to the door.

"We'll see you tomorrow, mom." I said, giving my mother a quick hug before walking out the door with my fiancé.

When the drive to the airport was behind us and we were on the plane heading to Sweden, I reached over and grasped Berwald's hand in mine gently. He had been so tense; it was like each moment that he got closer to his father's grave, the more rigid his intimidating structure became. It was understandable though; his father had caused him so much pain, and yet Berwald loved him.

The Swede glanced to me before slowly turning his head away; he looked as if he wanted to say something, but was holding his tongue.

I gave his hand a squeeze. "You know you can tell me anything that's on your mind." I told him, hoping to get him to talk.

"… Y' don't know how hard it is for m' t' g' back t' Sweden like this… I… I haven't visited m' father's grave in three years."

"… Why did you choose to go this year?"

"… Because I have y'… Y' support m' in everything I d', and y' help m' through tough times… I've never… I've never achieved any sort of closure for what happened in th' past… I realized that I need t' end m' own torment and stop letting th' past hold m' down… I need that closure more than y' would ever know."

"… I understand." I said. "I'm glad you've realized what you need to do… It's brave of you to do this, Berwald."

He nodded a bit, turning his head to look out the window at the passing scenery. I let out a sigh, leaning my head on his shoulder. He turned his face towards me and placed a soft kiss to the top of my head before looking back out the window. I smiled.

"Love you, Berwald."

"Love y' too, Mathias…"

The plane ride was short and uneventful. When we were on the ground and out of the airport, I felt so out of place. This was Sweden; Berwald's home country. We weren't in an extremely densely populated area like Copenhagen; I was a city boy, and actually seeing open land was somewhat new to me. But it seemed like Berwald knew what he was doing, and where he was going. Following my fiancé's lead wouldn't be too difficult.

We rented a car and were soon on our way to that little place called Björkvik. It was a short drive, but when we arrived at the church in the small town, I couldn't have felt more out of place. The creepy little church, in an extremely small town, with a graveyard where I would spend the next half hour or so just watching my boyfriend reminisce in memories he hated to have.

"Come on." Berwald said as he got out of the car. I got out as well, following the older Swede into the graveyard. He knew where he was going. My eyes scanned over some of the tombstones, noting the fact that many were worn down enough to the point where they were hard to read.

When Berwald stopped in front of your average rectangular grave, I knew it was his fathers. I read it over carefully; Oskar Oxenstierna was his dad's name. It was true; the man had died sixteen years ago when Berwald was thirteen.

I watched as Berwald's hands clenched into fists and he went down onto his knees in front of the grave, shaking his head.

"Sixteen years you've left m' alone…" He muttered, voice shaking. "Sixteen years I've spent, haunted by y' and what y' did t' m'… I-I don't know why y' did it. Y' had lived thirteen years when I was around; why did y' choose t' kill yourself when y' knew I had n' one else…? I know you'll never answer m'… You never did in th' past, what difference does it make when you're dead?"

I could practically feel my heart breaking for Berwald. The way this was; him taking to a grave as if his father could still hear him… It was saddening, but I knew it had to be done. This was how Berwald would achieve closure.

He began speaking Swedish, a language I could only somewhat understand. My ears were used to English and Danish; comprehending Swedish was a bit harder. But simply watching the Swede, as tears fell from his eyes, I knew what he was taking about. Memories. The things his father had done to make him such a broken man. Things I knew I would never be able to understand fully, but would attempt to in an effort to comfort the man I loved.

Once Berwald had quieted and calmed down, he stood. He wiped his face with his sleeve then reached into his pocket, pulling out an old, worn-looking metal flask. I assumed it to be his father's from many years ago. Berwald set it down against the tombstone then sighed.

"… It's over…" He said, turning to me. "Let's g'."

I smiled slightly and took his hand, walking back to the car. The air around the Swede felt so much more relaxed and comfortable. He had received his closure.

The drive back to Nyköping was quiet, but it was easy on the both of us. Berwald was so much less tense than he had been in previous hours, and I felt comforted by the fact that he finally had put the past behind him.

"I hope y' don't mind, but I booked us a short private flight t' Stockholm… Figured instead of heading back t' Copenhagen today, w' could spend some more time here in Sweden… An old striking coach of mine owns an MMA gym in th' city… W' could visit there."

"That sounds fine by me." I said, actually pleased with the fact that Berwald had taken the initiative in planning some things out for us to do in Sweden. Visiting an old coach of his sounded nice; despite the fact we were on vacation, I couldn't help but feel that need to be in a gym again.

When we got to the airport in Nyköping, we boarded the private flight and were, before we knew it, in Stockholm. It was an extremely short flight, but hey, I'd rather be on a short flight than a long one.

When walking through the Stockholm-Bromma Airport, we tried to ignore the occasional camera flash and mutterings of the WCFL. Berwald and I held hands, not caring if our relationship went public. It wasn't a bad thing, despite the fact that it, of course, would provide some negative feedback for the inevitable upcoming fight between the Swede and I.

When we exited the airport, Berwald hailed a taxi and we were soon on our way to his old coach's MMA gym. I watched the buildings and people on the streets as we passed in the taxi; there were definite differences between Copenhagen and Stockholm.

When we arrived at the address, Berwald paid for the ride and we got out of the vehicle. Berwald led me into the gym. Almost immediately, we were noticed by some teenagers who were standing around the lobby.

"Holy hell, do my eyes deceive me or are you really who I think you guys are?" One of them asked, dumbfounded. Berwald chuckled.

"It's really us. Say, where's Hugo?" He questioned.

"He's in the cage with a prospect." The teen responded. Berwald nodded and walked out to the main part of the gym. I looked around; it looked pretty standard for an MMA gym. Workout equipment, a full-sized MMA cage in the center, punching bags hanging by the wall, and plenty of posters on the walls. There was also a huge Swedish flag hanging on one of the walls.

Berwald and I approached the cage in the center, where a man looking to be in his fifties who I assumed was Hugo was sparring with a young man, probably around twenty. The older man glanced over to us, and then looked back to the young man, before looking to us again.

"Hold on, we'll continue this in a moment." He said. He walked out of the cage and walked over to Berwald and I.

"Well I'll be damned. Long time no see, Berwald." Hugo gave Berwald a hug, chuckling a bit. Berwald smiled.

"How've y' been?" He asked.

"I've been alright. Just been training some prospects for a local league. How about you?" Hugo replied.

"I'm on vacation. Figured I'd stop by and say hello. I don't have much t' d'; been staying in Copenhagen recently."

"I figured you would go on vacation after injuring your wrist in your fight against Johansson. Everyone around here loves to see your fights. This guy in the cage right here, Isak, mirrors your style. He's our most hopeful prospect; boxer and a wrestler. Just like you." Hugo turned to the Swede still in the cage, saying something in Swedish. Isak walked out and offered his gloved hand to Berwald with a smile. Berwald took the younger man's hand, saying something in Swedish.

They conversed for a few moments before Isak motioned to me. Berwald looked to me.

"Would y' b' willing t' d' some sparring with Isak here?" He asked.

"I'm going to need some shorts and gloves." I replied.

"That won't be a problem." Hugo said, meandering over to a shelf. He pulled a pair of shorts off of it, along with a pair of gloves. He returned over to us and tossed them to me.

"Locker room is over there." He motioned behind us, where there was indeed a locker room. I nodded a bit and headed to the locker room, getting changed. I hadn't realized the pair of shorts Hugo had given me was designed with the Swedish flag; how ironic it was. A Dane wearing shorts adorning the Swedish flag.

I walked out of the locker room as I was slipping on the pair of black gloves Hugo had given me. Surprisingly, the shorts and gloves fit. Berwald looked to me and chuckled a bit.

"Loving th' Swedish flag." He commented.

"Of course." I replied, stepping into the cage with Isak. The younger Swede was just a bit shorter than me, and had a thinner build as well. Despite the fact that he hadn't yet been signed to an official league yet, he already had slightly cauliflowered ears. They weren't as bad-looking as mine, but they were there regardless.

Berwald and Hugo stood just inside the cage and Isak and I shook hands. I didn't think he knew English, seeing that he had only spoken Swedish with Berwald and Hugo, so no words were shared between us.

Admittedly, it felt good to be in the cage once again. I was going to go easy on this kid, of course, but fighting was my life.

Hugo acted as a sort of referee, telling us to begin the little match. Isak and I circled slowly before he launched a surprisingly powerful superman punch with his right hand. I blocked it, but felt some pain in my arm where his fist had connected.

As Isak and I continued to spar, more of the people in the gym gathered around, taking pictures and taping videos on their phones.

I got in close to the Swede, hitting him with a few punches to the body. Isak backed away slightly before returning with a strong left hook that connected with my jaw. It wasn't a knockout punch, but it was a good one. Realizing that he had connected a good shot, the younger man went after me with a flurry of punches, most of which I blocked and parried. This kid had some skill, but he needed to work on his game plan. Just coming after someone with punches to the head wasn't going to get him much anywhere unless he was lucky.

I reached forward and got in the clinch with the Swede, both my arms under his in a hold known as the double-underhooks. I then lifted him off the ground and slammed him down onto the mat, now going to test the man's ground skill. In side-mount, I placed rather light punches to his head.

He shifted his position, able to wrap his legs around one of mine and bringing me into half-guard. He held my head down to his chest, and I didn't resist all that much. He placed a few punches to my head before bringing me into his guard.

I made an attempt to get back into half-guard, which was successful. I then made a major transition, bringing my leg that was still in between his up and over his other, getting into full mount. I then placed my weight on his abdomen and got my head off his chest, placing a few punches to his face before Hugo told us to stop. I stood off the younger Swede, offering a hand to help him up. He took and I lifted him to his feet.

Hugo walked over to Isak and started talking to him in Swedish, most likely telling him what he did wrong. I leaned against the cage, waiting for Hugo to tell me to do something. Once Hugo was done chatting with Isak, he turned to me.

"Care to spar with a couple more of our MMA students?" He asked. I smiled.

"Bring it on." I replied.

And so, Hugo brought it on. I faced a few of his students; even a fifteen year old Swede who actually managed to get in a few good transitions on the ground. By the time we were done, I was dripping with sweat, exhausted by the slur of students that I had faced.

"Damn Hugo… Y' wore him out." Berwald commented on my exhaustion.

"Took eleven students… Hm… What do you say we do one more, Mathias? You and me; striking only. First blood wins?" Hugo's challenge sounded formidable, but nonetheless, even with my fatigue, I accepted with a nod of my head.

"Let's do it." I said. I went to one side of the cage while Berwald's former striking coach removed his shirt and got on a pair of gloves. The man was already in a pair of shorts and wasn't wearing any shoes, so he was set.

"Berwald, tell us when to start." Hugo said, heading to the opposite end of the cage. After a few moments, Berwald told us to go.

I put my fists up and approached the coach carefully; he was a striking trainer for a reason. We circled for what seemed like forever before I threw the first strike, aiming a kick at his side. He absorbed the hit with no problem, and then countered with a heavy right hook that put me off balance.

I cringed slightly as he followed up the hook with a strong body uppercut, but I countered it with a strong elbow to the man's forehead. He backed away slightly, smirking a bit. He threw a few punches which I blocked, and then I did the same, receiving only one hit out of the few I tossed at him.

We circled once again before I got creative, spinning on my lead foot, and with remarkable flexibility that I hardly knew I had, nailing the man in the head with the heel of my back foot. It knocked him back and I grinned when I saw a few drops of blood come from his forehead. He reached up and patted the area, chuckling when he saw the blood.

"Fancy kick there, Mathias. Where in the hell did you learn that, and how the hell are you that flexible?" He asked.

"Well, the spin kick; I sort of stole that from Andelko Begovich. As for the flexibility? I work hard to be sure I can kick my opponent in the head. The spin kick to the head I've never done before. Just got creative." I replied, grinning.

"Well, you win. Go ahead and get dressed. You can keep those shorts and gloves, by the way." He told me, patting my shoulder as we exited the cage, followed by Berwald.

"Thanks." I responded as I went back to the locker room to get dressed. Once dressed, I came back out, carrying the shorts and gloves in hand.

"You two going to hang around Stockholm for a while, or are you going to head back to Copenhagen?" Hugo asked as he dabbed at his cut forehead with a towel.

"We'll probably stick around Stockholm for today before heading back t' Copenhagen later tonight." Berwald answered.

"Could I treat you guys to dinner at my house? My wife is quite the chef." Hugo said.

"What d' y' say, Mathias?" Berwald looked to me.

"Doesn't matter to me." I replied.

"Alright then. We'll have dinner at your place then." Berwald told Hugo. His old coach smiled.

"I won't be leaving the gym until around five; you guys can go off and do what you'd like. Just meet me back here around five and I'll take you to my house. I'm sure my wife won't mind the company."

"Alright. Thanks Hugo." Berwald said.

"It's not a problem, Berwald."

Berwald and I headed out of the gym, now having plans to eat dinner ta his old coach's house.

"So he's your old striking trainer, huh? He's a nice guy." I commented as we walked down the sidewalk.

"Yeah… Would have kept him as m' striking coach, but h' had t' come back t' Stockholm t' manage his business." Berwald replied.

"I guess we know where we can come to chill out if we're ever in Stockholm again."

"Yeah… Hugo's a generous man. I always like t' check up on him whenever I can."

"Yeah… so, what're we going to do for another two hours before we go to his place?"

"… Don't know. We'll find something."


	21. Karma's Curse

**A/n: **I am so sorry for the long delay in my writing! I moved to my dad's apartment in early in January, and he didn't have internet until today. I worked on my stories in the meantime, and finished this chapter.

Enjoy!

**xxx**

My vacation seemed to pass all too fast once Berwald's dealings with his past had come and gone.

He had left Copenhagen a week before I did since his vacation time was shorter than mine, but we were reunited at the airport back in the United States once my last vacation week was over. In the airport, cameras flashed and took pictures of us as we made our way out, but it was no big deal. He and I had both already been featured in some sort of gossip magazine for our relationship, which would be expected for anyone in the WCFL who had been discovered to be in a relationship with their next opponent.

Berwald and I went our separate ways once we were out of the airport; we both knew what we had to do today. Go sign that contract with Lodovico. I took a taxi to my apartment and dropped off my luggage before heading back out, calling Tolvorn on my cell phone as I walked towards the WCFL offices.

"_Hey Mathias, you back in the states?" _My coach answered.

"Yeah. I'm heading over to the offices to get my next contract signed."

"_Alright. I'll be waiting outside Lodovico's office."_

"See you in a little bit coach." I hung up the phone and shoved it back in my pocket, continuing on towards the WCFL offices. I was both excited and nervous to start training for my fight against my fiancé. This was my chance to prove to the world that no matter who was in the cage with me, I could fight. Hopefully I would win, but there was no guaranteeing a victory. Berwald had only ever been defeated by Alexianos Kirzigian, the Armenian man with a 41-0 record. This was going to be a challenge.

When I got to the offices, Tolvorn was waiting for me just outside Lodovico's office like he said he would be.

"Berwald and Antonio have yet to arrive, but we can head on in and wait for them." Tolvorn said, opening the door and walking in. Lodovico was lounging in his chair reading the screen of his computer, and when he noticed us, he grinned, sitting upright.

"Do you guys have any clue how much the media is blowing up this fight? Headlines online are reading "The Rookie and The Beast; Lovers or Enemies?", "Epic Collision to be Signed", "The War is On"... This is going to be our most profitable event since Kirzigian versus Oxenstierna IV!" He exclaimed excitedly. Of course the man would be eager to make money just for setting up a fight between Berwald and I.

"It is a sort of revolutionary match. I mean, I'm undefeated so far in my career. Berwald's never been defeated by anyone except for Alexianos. It's only natural that people would get enthused about this matchup." I replied as I took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the Italian's desk. Tolvorn sat beside me.

"And plus, this would be Mathias' contender fight, correct?" He said.

"Yes, it is. But it's also going to be Berwald's chance to get a fifth rematch. I've decided to make this an all-around contender match, just in case you guys aren't motivated to beat the pulp out of eachother." Lodovico responded. He looked past Tolvorn and I and smiled as the door was opened once again. Berwald and Antonio had arrived. The Swede silently took his seat next to his coach, and I could feel that familiar intensity radiating from the man.

"Alright guys, here's the contract." Lodovico slid a piece of paper over to Berwald and his coach. Antonio read over the paper then went wide-eyed.

"A contender match? You mean if Berwald wins this he'll get to face Alexianos again?" He questioned. Lodovico smirked and nodded.

"Whoever gets the victory will receive a match against Alexianos "One Man Army" Kirzigian. Berwald, this is your last chance before I'm sticking to that three year no-title plan we talked about before you faced Johansson." Lodovico informed my fiancé. Berwald nodded slightly as Antonio signed the contract. He then did the same before passing the paper over to Tolvorn and I.

I signed the contract with a slightly shaky hand; I was incredibly nervous. Berwald wasn't going to make this easy whatsoever; this was his last chance for a title fight after all. If I won, he would have to wait three years to be able to get that chance again. It put pressure on both of us; I wanted to face Kirzigian as much as Berwald did.

Once Tolvorn signed the contract and handed it back to Lodovico for the final signature, the tensions in the room took a sudden climb. Once the manager of the WCFL had his signature on the paper and he shoved it away in a drawer, he smiled.

"You two already know eachother. Feel free to shake hands though; make it official if you'd like." He said. Berwald and I stood, looking to eachother.

"All's fair in love and war, right Berwald?" I asked, chuckling a bit. He nodded, smiling slightly. He held out one large hand to me.

"Let's make it official." He said. I grasped his hand and shook it; I had to admit, it felt odd shaking hands with my fiancé, but hey, for the next six weeks he and I were going to be training as enemies.

When Berwald and his coach left the office, I turned to Lodovico.

"So who else is on the card?" I questioned.

"Well, we've got five fights. Three undercard, one co-main, and of course, you and Berwald are the main event. For undercard fights we've got Galante versus Antonov, Alex Johansson versus Ludwig Beilschmidt, and then Lorinatus versus Fernandez… The co-main event is Begovich versus Joachim Johansson. I'm hoping that I can get the Johansson brothers in the ring sometime after this upcoming event. I want them to fight it out for once and not force a no-contest draw. It's ridiculous how they won't fight eachother…" Lodovico started to rant, but stopped himself. "But anyways, we've got some pretty good fights coming up."

"Alright, thanks. I'll see you later, Lodovico." With that, Tolvorn and I exited the office.

"I hope you're ready to train like there's no tomorrow, Mathias. I'm going to work you to win this fight; Berwald won't know what hit him when you two are in that cage." Tolvorn said, smirking. I chuckled.

"I am more than ready to train… Eduard's at the gym already, I'm guessing?" I replied. My coach nodded.

"You already know what we're going to be training."

"Wrestling?"

"Yep. Berwald is a wrestling phenomenon; the more we train you to counteract his strong point, the better off you'll be in the fight. We'll work on standup game a bit only because your vacation probably made you rusty, but I'm pretty sure you've got striking down. I already know you have that advantage over him. We're primarily going to work ground game; Berwald will try to take you down and either submit you or force a TKO or a knockout. With the amount of fights he's been in, there's no lack of information on his skills and what he likes to do in the cage." Tolvorn explained.

As we walked into the World Class Gym, I spotted Eduard sitting on the floor near one of the rings, stretching. He waved a bit to Tolvorn and I as we approached.

"How was your vacation, Mathias?" He asked.

"Better than expected." I responded with a grin, showing him the ring on my left hand's ring finger.

"You're kidding. Berwald proposed so soon? And you accepted?" Eduard questioned, obviously a bit stunned.

"He did. And yes, I accepted. I couldn't deny him to save my damn life."

"Well then. Congrats."

"Thanks."

"Alright you two. Enough chit-chat. Mathias, your stuff is in the locker room. Go get changed. Eduard, while he's changing, I'm going to tell you what I want you to do." Tolvorn cut into the conversation. I nodded a bit and headed to the locker room. I changed my clothes, getting into a pair of black board shorts and tossing my unneeded clothing into a locker.

I walked back out and Eduard was waiting in the ring, now without a shirt.

"Mathias, get in there. I want to see how you do on your own without any briefing on what Eduard is going to do." Tolvorn said. I hopped into the ring and went to the opposite side of Eduard.

"Remember, no striking for either of you. I'll tell you when to stop; now go."

I looked to Eduard as he got into a wrestling stance that was a mirror of Berwald's. It was less intimidating due to the fact that Eduard was shorter than me, but he knew what he was doing just as much as Berwald did.

I went into a slightly low stance, more of a Muay-Thai stance than anything, with my hands open out in front of me, weight on my back leg. Eduard and I circled for a few moments before he made a move to get into the clinch. I tried to counter it, but found myself stuck in the over-under clinch. Eduard quickly transitioned to the double-underhooks, moving his arms down and tightly wrapping them around my abdomen. He then, with a strength I hardly knew he had, lifted me off the mat and slammed me down. The hardly-padded ring hurt like hell to be slammed onto, but I could endure.

Eduard, now in side-mount, tried to transition to full mount, but I denied him the chance. I twisted my hips, turning my body quickly and forcing Eduard to get off of me. We both stood and returned to our stances. Without warning, my Estonian training partner lunged for my left leg. Out of pure instinct, I lifted my knee, slamming it into Eduard's forehead.

"Oh shit! Fuck , I didn't mean to do that!" I exclaimed, crouching down to tend to the Estonian. I realized that I had knocked him completely unconscious. He now adorned a large gash in his forehead, which was bleeding quite a bit.

"Mathias, what the fuck was that? Didn't I say no striking? God, get the fuck away from him. Take a breather or something." Tolvorn was infuriated as he got into the ring and walked over to Eduard. I stood and shook my head; I had never made such a mistake like that before.

"I couldn't help it, coach! I didn't mean to knee him in the face like that! It was just-"

"Instinct, I know. You have to control that instinct, especially when you're training with someone who has never taken a full-fledged hit to the face before. I'm impressed that you have that kind of instinct, but disappointed that you let it control your actions… Go to my bag, get my phone, look through the contacts, and call the hospital. Ask them for an ambulance to come pick Eduard up; he's not waking up. I think you seriously hurt him." My coach said. I nodded and went over to his duffel bag on the ground hurriedly, grabbing his cell phone out of one of the pockets.

I looked through the contacts, not surprised when I saw the hospital's number registered in my coach's phone. I hit the send button and held the phone to my ear, waiting out a few rings before there was an answer.

"_This is the Saint Vincent's Hospital, how may I help you?"_

"Hey, uh… We need and ambulance at the World Class Gym."

"_Another training injury there? That's the third one in the past month."_

"Yes, it's a training injury. I hurt my training partner; he's not waking up after I accidentally knocked him unconscious."

"_Accidentally?"_

"Yes, accidentally. Just send the ambulance, lady."

"_Alright, alright. It'll be there soon."_

I hung up the phone and tossed it back into Tolvorn's bag before looking back to Eduard and my coach in the cage. Eduard was still unconscious, and Tolvorn was merely sitting there, holding his head still.

"Did I really hit him that hard?" I asked.

"Yeah, you did. Imagine the knee you did to knock out Matthew Williams, multiplied by one-hundred. You don't realize how strong you are until you severely hurt someone." Tolvorn replied.

"What the hell? What happened to Eduard?" I turned to see the person behind the new voice in our conversation, only to see Raivis, Eduard's boyfriend, hurrying over. The Latvian kick boxer hopped into the ring and crouched down by Eduard.

"Don't worry your little head about him, Raivis. He just got hurt while training." Tolvorn said.

"How did he get hurt?" Raivis questioned.

"Mathias kneed him in the head; it was an accident."

"What? Are you kidding me? How could that be an accident?"

"Fighters develop natural instincts to defend themselves. Mathias has that instinct, and he kneed Eduard in the head due to it."

"You're kidding me… Is he going to be alright?"

"He may have a concussion, but I'm sure he'll be fine after a few days."

"I really didn't mean to knee him like I did, Raivis. Sorry." I apologized. The Latvian sighed heavily.

"You didn't do it on purpose so… It's alright" I knew Raivis was reluctant to say it, but he knew I would never mean any harm to Eduard. This had all happened by accident.

When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics came in and loaded my injured training partner onto a stretcher, taking him to the ambulance and soon having him on the way to the hospital. I leaned against a wall in the gym, shaking my head.

"Can't believe I did that. I feel incredibly bad…" I muttered.

"Don't worry yourself too much about it, Mathias. I'll give him a week to recover fully and then he'll be back. Hopefully he won't be mad at you for what you did. Knowing him, he'll shake it off and forgive easily." Tolvorn said, walking over to me.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. These kinds of things happen all the time with training, huh?" I asked, looking to my coach.

"Yep. You saw how Berwald hurt his training partner back when you first started training here at this gym. He's hurt quite a few people while training. Compared to what I've seen, what you did is nothing."

"What's the worst thing you've seen?"

"Kirzigian nearly killed one of his striking partners. Hit him just right with a hard left hook. Imagine getting hit on one spot of your head by a car going thirty miles per hour. That's how the guy described it when he regained his ability to speak."

"Damn… I don't even want to imagine that."

"Exactly… Kirzigian doesn't let his partners train without protective headgear anymore. I'm surprised the champ is such a humble guy; he thinks of others more than he does himself."

"I know. I talk with his husband often."

"Tino, right?"

"Yeah. Nice guy. Though he and Kirzigian did get into a rather argument a while back."

"Really? Do tell."

"I'd rather not discuss their personal lives."

"It's not like I'm the media or anything. You can tell me."

"I'm keeping my lips zipped, coach."

"Wow; you keeping quiet? Unheard of."

"Yeah… so what're we going to do without Ed? I mean… are we still going to train?"

"Yeah, we're still going to train. Striking. Get some gloves on and we'll practice on the kicking pads. Need to keep you flexible with your strikes."

"Alright."

For the next few hours, my coach and I practiced my kicking and punching combinations and targeting. He worked me hard, just as expected. By the end of the few hours, I was drenched in sweat and breathing at a mild rate.

I looked around the gym, though my attention was caught by a certain Armenian champion hopping into one of the training rings with a sparring partner. The guy never stopped training; not even when he wasn't scheduled for a fight.

Tolvorn stood beside me, crossing his arms as he joined in on watching "One Man Army" train. I cocked my head to the side as I recognized the champion's training partner's stance. It was mirroring the brawling stance I used.

"… He's training to fight you, Mathias." Tolvorn said.

"Apparently…" I responded as Kirzigian and his training partner began to throw strikes. The training partner was wearing headgear and a rib guard, obviously for his own safety. Kirzigian didn't look to be trying enough to hurt someone, though with each hit that landed, the partner let out quick grunts of pain.

I watched closely as Kirzigian slid forward with a left straight that connected just under the rib protector his training partner. After a few seconds the pain must've kicked in, because Kirzigian's partner fell to his knees and crawled away slightly, letting out a few breathless words. Kirzigian relaxed and walked away from the man, allowing him time to recover from the strike.

"God damn… He wasn't even trying either…" I commented, a sickening feeling plaguing my stomach. Kirzigian was training to fight me, and he had hurt his partner when not even trying. He would be trying if I fought him.

I couldn't imagine the feeling of the left hand connecting with any part of my body; I had read the descriptions and seen the damage, and was completely aware that he had nearly killed people with the strength of one punch.

I had seen him brutally knock out Berwald, sending my fiancé to the hospital after their fourth fight. I had seen him leave the most experienced fighter in the WCFL, Sadik Adnan, on the mat unconscious. I knew he was dangerous if he held that kind of power.

"You're pretty durable, Mathias. From what I know, you could well be on your way to being able to take one of Kirzigian's hits." Tolvorn said, patting my shoulder. I glanced to him, then looked back to Alexianos. As his training partner exited the ring, the Armenian champion locked eyes with me and smirked a bit.

"Care to spar a bit, Mathias?" He asked. I fumbled with my words a bit before Tolvorn took the initiative and shoved me forward a bit.

"He'd love to, Alexianos." My coach answered the champion for me. A tad nervously, I clambered into the ring. I was somewhat tired from my training; sparring with anyone would be hard, but sparring with Alexianos Kirzigian was near suicidal.

"I'll go easy on you; don't worry." Alexianos said, going to one corner of the ring.

"I think that's still pretty dangerous, Alexianos." I replied, heading to the corner opposite to the one the reigning champion was in.

He chuckled slightly. "Possibly."

"Alright you two, enough chit-chat. I'll be a sort of referee here." Tolvorn hopped into the ring, leaning against the ropes with a smile on his face. Alexianos and I glanced to him, then looked to each other.

"Ready, Mathias?" My coach asked.

"Just start the sparring, will you?" I responded. He laughed and raised a hand in the air then swung it down.

"Go."

Carefully, I approached Alexianos in my stance. I took a moment to study his hunched boxing stance, noting that his heels didn't move off the mat much. He moved slowly at first, but when he threw the first strike, his back heel came up. I leaned back, avoiding getting hit in the face, then ducked to avoid a second punch. I narrowly escaped his right hand, feeling it brush against the hair on my head.

He slid forward, getting close to me and attempting to hit me with a left uppercut, but I slid to the side then backwards in order to get away. I lifted up my back leg and attempted to dig a push kick into his abdomen, but the other man caught my kick with his right hand. He held my leg at his side and pulled me forward, right into his left fist.

I stumbled on my one foot, but didn't fall, which was surprising considering the fact that my face now ached from the shot. He had hardly hit my cheek, and yet it felt as if I had been punched hard. I supposed this was now teaching me that if he went full-force, I would most likely end up knocked out.

With my right knee now held against the ribs of the champion, I was close enough to get into some Muay-Thai, but he kept turning and pulling me to the side, putting me off balance. Every time I stumbled, he would go for a strike with that left hand. I made futile attempts to block, seeing that his heavy left hand kept slipping through my guard and landing. I was feeling the pain now, too. I knew each strike was producing a bruise, no matter if it merely grazed my skin or actually landed.

I finally managed to free my leg from Alexianos' hold, then stepped back a bit, glancing out of the ring for only a moment. I noticed that now instead of just Alexianos' training partner standing out there, Tino had joined in on watching his husband spar. How long the Finnish café owner had been standing there, I was unaware of.

I looked back to Alexianos, whose eyes met mine. We circled for a few moments, and as I reared back my right arm for a superman punch, Alexianos read my move and slid forward, connecting that left fist with my ribs with astounding force.

Extreme pain surged through my side, causing me to collapse to the ground and half scream in pain, holding my side. Tolvorn jumped in, shoving Alexianos away from me. Laying on my back, I stomped a foot on the ground, breathing ragged and shaky. I wasn't sure what the damage was, but my side hurt so insanely bad. Alexianos had just put a kill shot on me.

"Mathias, breathe. Kid, come on, breathe for me. In out, nice and deep." Tolvorn told me; I made attempts to follow his directions, but it just made it hurt worse. I grit my teeth and rolled over onto my side, letting out a groan through grit teeth. I could hear Tino scolding Alexianos a few feet away, but there's no way I could concentrate on what they were saying.

"Tino, call an ambulance. Now." Tolvorn said to the Finnish man. Tino stopped speaking to his husband and pulled out his cell phone, calling the hospital. I found it odd; first Eduard was hurt by me, now I got hurt by Alexianos. I supposed it was karma taking effect.

When paramedics arrived, I was still in quite a bit of pain. As they lifted me onto a stretcher and strapped me onto it, I paid attention to Tino's voice. He was speaking to Alexianos nearby.

"Alex, go home. Just fucking go home; you're done for today, alright?" His voice carried a surprising amount of malice. "I'm going to go to the hospital with Mathias to talk to him after the doctors determine what you did."

As I was carried out of the ring on the stretcher Tolvorn and Tino followed close behind. Once at the hospital, it was determined that I had two broken ribs. I was rushed to the ER where Dr. Braginskaya operated on me once again.

I was so unlucky.

Upon awakening in recovery after my surgery, a doctor walked in and informer me that I was to spend a night or two in the hospital for recovery. After a brief conversation about the new plates holding my ribs together, the doctor left with the wonderful warning that another break like the ones I suffered during the day could end my MMA career for good.

I didn't spend long alone in the room though; Tino walked in soon after the doctor had left.

"Hey Tino…" I said, offering a small smile to the Finn, who looked slightly disheveled.

"How're you feeling, Mathias?" He asked, pulling up a chair next to the bed and sitting down.

"I'm alright, I guess… Your husband's punch hurt like a bitch though…" I replied.

"I'm really sorry about that… Alex… God, he doesn't realize how hard he punches sometimes but…" The Finnish man sighed shakily. "I-It almost seemed like he wanted to hurt you. H-He's been so frustrated for the past year… H-He's taking it out in th-the wrong ways and… G-God, I'm just so sorry…"

"Don't apologize, Tino. It isn't your fault… Alexianos is the one at fault…"

"B-But I could have stopped him! I-I just stood there like an idiot… H-He hurt you because I stood back…"

"Tino… Come on, man. You know you couldn't have done anything to stop him. Stop blaming yourself."

"I-I can't help it…"

"… Can I ask why you're kind of disheveled, Tino?"

"…" The man was silent, but his actions spoke louder than words. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and retrieved a small flask. "I-I've been drinking… A-And I was in a rush to get here…"

"So you're talking to me in a hospital while buzzed?"

"I-I haven't drunk enough t-to get tipsy at all… I-I just… G-God, I used to drink so much when I was in high school a-and depressed… F-Fuck, Mathias, I-I don't know why I turned to it again, b-but I can't stop… Alexianos found out about me drinking two months ago… N-Now we've both threatened each other with divorce…"

"Man… Tino, you've got to stop drinking… I… I wouldn't want you to end up like Berwald's dad."

"B-Berwald's dad…?" The tearful Finn cast me a confused glance.

"Berwald's dad was an alcoholic. Abused Berwald, actually… Made Berwald's life a living hell. Up until Berwald was thirteen, that is… His dad committed suicide… The reason behind that I know had something to do with his alcoholism. I know you would never want to leave Alexianos like that. No matter how much you irk each other, I know neither of you could stand to be without the other."

"G-Good God, Mathias, I-I need help…" He muttered. I smiled sadly and reached my hand out.

"Giving me the flask will be the first step." I stated. With a shaky hand, the Finn set the metal container in my palm. I turned to my other side where a trash can was, and dropped the flask in it.

"Now, you need to go see a professional for this… drinking problem of yours." I placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I care about you, Tino. I really do. I want the best for you, and seeing a professional would really help you with this, I'm sure… If you can, please get Alexianos to talk to me as soon as he can."

"What is there left to say?" Tino and I both looked to the door.

Alexianos was standing there in the doorway, arms crossed, scowl printed across his facial features.

The champion did not look happy one bit.

For what reason he was mad; I would soon find out.


	22. Tragedy of Dagur

"A-Alexianos…?" Tino stuttered, turning in his chair towards his husband.

"So let me get this straight. I ask you for the flask a month ago, and you don't give it to me, but you give it to Mathias? A man you hardly know?" Alexianos stepped into the room, scowl remaining sternly focused on the Finn sitting down.

"I-I… I just…" I could tell Tino was struggling to find an explanation for his actions.

"You just what? Do you not think that I would become suspicious of your actions?"

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"Oh please, Tino. We can both clearly see that you're much more comfortable around Mathias than you are your own husband."

"A-Are you accusing me of cheating on you!" Tino exclaimed, covering his mouth with a pale hand.

"No." Alexianos' voice was filled with sarcasm.

"A-Alex… I-I know I've fucked up with the drinking, but… I'd never do that to you."

"Right…" More sarcasm from the WCFL champion.

"D-Don't you dare think I'm cheating on you with Mathias." Tino said, standing.

"And if I do believe that to be so? What're you going to do to stop me?" Alexianos stepped up close to the Finnish man, face to face. The aura in the room was so tense.

"I…"

You'll what?"

"I-I…" Tino backed away slightly, bumping into the IV machine hooked into my arm.

"What're you going to do, Tino?" Alexianos' fists clenched, and my eyes widened. I couldn't let him do anything to Tino; even in my condition. If he tried anything, I was going to defend Tino. Alexianos was wrongly accusing him of cheating, and fighting over such a false accusation was simply not sitting well with me.

"Tell me, Tino, what're you going to do?" Alexianos came very close to Tino, mere inches away from the Finn. The fear in Tino's eyes was intense; I knew this wasn't going to end well.

"H-Hey! Back off him, Kirzigian!" I said, sitting up straight and looking to the champion.

"And what're you going to do about it if I don't?" Alexianos asked, eyes shifting towards me.

"I'm going to defend Tino if you try anything, man. Not because he's cheating on you with me, which he isn't, but because I'm not going to let you hurt someone outside of the cage."

"Like you could possibly defend anyone right now. You can't even stand up." Alexianos turned his body towards me, putting his hands on his hips.

"Try me." I said, bringing my legs over the side of the hospital bed and placing my feet on the cold floor below me, standing up. I was taller than Alexianos by a decent margin.

"You think you scare me, rookie?" Alexianos asked, inching closer to me. I tensed up, clenching my fists. If this became physical, I was risking my MMA career.

"I wouldn't touch him if I were y', Kirzigian." A fourth person brought our attention back to the door of the hospital. Unmistakably, it was Berwald.

"Oxenstierna." Alexianos looked to Berwald, two menacing scowls meeting. Berwald approached, though stood slightly to the side. He then pointed to the door.

"Out." He firmly stated, cold eyes glaring into Alexianos' from behind thick rimmed glasses. Alexianos chuckled a bit.

"It seems I'm some sort of bad guy here, huh? Fine." He put up his hands in some sort of surrendering scheme, taking a few steps towards the door. In a flash, things exploded into chaos. The Armenian man took a cheap shot at Berwald with his left fist, punching my Swedish fiancé right in the jaw.

Berwald fell to the ground, but wasn't knocked out.

"A-Alex, stop!" Tino shouted, getting in between his husband and Berwald, only to take a hard left hand to his chest; an accidental hit that had been meant to strike down Berwald.

He stopped once he saw Tino curled up on his knees, gasping for air. I stood there, stunned, unable to move.

"T-Tino!" He stammered, kneeling down to help the Finn, who, though out of breath, shoved him away before returning to his place on the ground. Berwald got to his feet and sighed.

"Look what you've done, Kirzigian. Y' hurt your husband. Is this what y' want? T' b' shunned like this? G' home, and think about what you've done. I won't report y' t' Lodovico, but I want y' to think real hard about where you're going with your anger. Find a different outlet than blaming the innocent. Now leave, and don't expect t' see Tino soon." He said. Alexianos walked out after nodding slightly. I kneeled down to check on Tino, who was starting to breathe easy again.

"Are you alright?" I asked. He looked up at me, shaking his head. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around me, pressing tear-filled eyes to my hospital-gown covered shoulder. He began to cry, soft sobs escaping his mouth.

I gently wrapped my arms around the younger man in an effort to comfort him. Berwald sighed and sat down in a chair against the wall, rubbing fingers across the newly-forming bruise on his jaw line.

After a few minutes, Tino calmed down and released me.

"I-I'm sorry…" He muttered, standing and wiping his face with his sleeves. I stood as well, releasing a breath.

"Don't apologize, Tino." I stated, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Listen… You can stay with me for a little while if you'd like, just until things between you and Alexianos cool down a bit."

"O-Okay… Thank you, Mathias…"

"You're welcome." I said as I sat on the hospital bed, then laid down. He sat down in the chair he had previously been sitting in. I glanced to Berwald.

"Are you okay, Berwald?" I questioned. He looked to me and nodded.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about it." He responded.

"Alright… You don't mind Tino staying at my place, right?"

"Not at all."

"Thanks… Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Mathias. I've taken hits like that before."

"Okay… Just making sure."

"Y' should rest. It's best for your health."

"Yeah… Say, do you have your cell phone on you?" I asked.

"Yes; why?"

"I need to call Tolvorn and tell him to bring my clothes and stuff here to the hospital."

"I'll do it for y'. Just rest."

"You have Tolvorn's number?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Tino, I guess you can just hang out here for a little while until Tolvorn gets here with my stuff… If I'm not awake, just take my keys from my pants pocket and have Berwald drive you to my place. One of the keys on there is my house key. My house isn't very big, so I guess you'll have to crash on the couch. That alright with you?"

Tino nodded. "Yeah, it's fine… Thank you again, Mathias. I owe you…"

"Nah. Consider this a favor. I'm just helping out a friend."

I glanced to Berwald as he started talking on the phone, before looking back to Tino.

"I promise you, things will get resolved between you and Alexianos. You both are good people; you've just screwed up a bit and lost your way. People like me and Berwald are here for you guys to try to help you out."

The Finn smiled and nodded. "Yeah… Thank you so much…"

After a little while, Tolvorn arrived in the hospital. I had laid down and my eyes were closed, but I wasn't anywhere near asleep. I listened as my coach spoke to Tino and Berwald.

"Here, Berwald." My coach said. "Here's Mat's things."

"Thanks, Tolvorn… I'm guessing you're going t' head on home?" Berwald asked.

"Yeah. You take care of yourself. And you too, Tino." My coach directed his speech towards the Finnish café owner in the room.

"I will. Have a nice day, Mr. Ryker." Tino responded.

"You too." With that, my coach made his exit, the sound of his footsteps telling me so.

I heard a sigh escape Tino's mouth, and surprisingly, that sigh was followed by a string of Swedish words. Berwald, sounding surprised, replied to the Finn in his native tongue.

The two conversed a bit in my fiancé's native language, before a pause in the talking arrived. I felt a pair of lips on my cheek, and as quick as it came, the presence beside me left, along with the presence of people in the room.

I opened my eyes slightly and looked around a bit; sure enough, Berwald and Tino had left the hospital room. I sighed heavily and stared up at the ceiling; recovery was going to be hard, and training even harder. I couldn't believe this had happened.

All of the events of the day; the injuries of both Eduard and I, Tino's confession to me of his near-alcoholism, Alexianos' sudden accusations, and further his attack on Berwald and accidental harm of his husband, had all equaled up to one hell of a chaotic few hours.

All of this had happened in just a few hours… Unbelievable.

Pondering the day made me wonder; how was my Estonian training partner doing? I reached over and pressed the call button on the railing of my bed. About a minute later, a nurse walked into the room, all smiles.

"Good evening, Mr. Køhler. What do you need?" She asked, standing at the side of my bed.

"I was just wondering about one of the patients that was admitted here earlier today; Eduard Von Bock. He's my training partner for the WCFL. Is he doing alright?" I responded.

"We aren't allowed to disclose any information on a patient to someone that isn't family. Sorry, sir."

"You've got to be kidding me. Could I talk to Doctor Svetozar, please?"

"If that's what you want. I'll go get him for you." With that, the nurse left. A few minutes later, Apostol, the kind doctor who had disclosed information to me about Berwald before, entered, smiling.

"Hello, Mathias. How're you feeling?" He asked, approaching and standing next to my bed, much like the nurse had before.

"I'm alright. I'm just wondering about Eduard Von Bock. He was admitted here earlier today."

"Ah, yes. He's your training partner, correct?"

"Yeah. How's he doing?"

"He's acquired a mild concussion, but is expected to be recovered within a week or so. So basically, you don't have to worry about not being able to train. He'll be back before you are."

"Alright… I'll have to apologize to him when I get the chance…"

"That'd be best. He woke up about an hour ago and was able to explain what happened before he went back to sleep."

"Yeah… I feel so bad about it."

"Well, you just rest for now, Mathias. I'll have a nurse in and out of here every few hours to check on you."

"Alright… Thanks for clearing things up for me, doc."

"It's not a problem. See you later." Apostol turned and exited the room, leaving me to be alone in the room once again.

I stared up at the ceiling for what must have been an hour before I finally drifted off into slumber. I didn't awaken until early in the morning of my second day I the hospital. I guessed the training and stress had taken it's toll.

I yawned and stretched my limbs slightly, letting out a groan when I realized how sore I was. My side ached like no other.

Out of curiosity, I reached down and pulled the fabric of my hospital gown up to reveal the bandages on my side from where the incision for my surgery had been made. You could see, even outside the bandages, the bruising that just one punch from Alexianos had caused.

It was hard to believe the strength Alexianos carried in his left-handed punches. I never knew the damage it could cause first-hand, but now I did. There was a thought going around in my head; if I did beat Berwald and get the shot at fighting the champion, how was I going to defend myself properly? How was I to absorb the hits I would inevitably take to the body?

With my ribs the way they were, I knew the simplest of hit could damage them. I harbored two different plates inside my body; one on each side holding together ribs that had been hurt. My career was as stake each time something like this happened.

It's not like injuries were uncommon though. Later in the day, with the time I had in the hospital ticking away slowly, I had Tolvorn bring me my cell phone and a book that I could read to pass the time. It was a very interesting book, listing the histories of every fighter in the WCFL up until around five years ago, when it was published.

I flipped through some of the pages until I found fighters that interested me; the one that caught my mind the most was the profile for Alexianos "One Man Army" Kirzigian. I read over the pages, learning quite a bit about his background in the WCFL.

_Alexianos Kirzigian, born in 1983 to an architect father and a pharmacologist mother, is the champion of the World-Class Fighting League. He has been the champion ever since beating Sadik Adnan with his well-known left hand. He is a boxer primarily, and has a wrestling side-skill._

_The "One Man Army" born in and fighting out of Vagharshapat, Armenia, never fought as an amateur before he joined the WCFL at the age of eighteen. "I joined because I was out of options." said Kirzigian in a 2005 interview. "My days in school didn't fare so well, even though I had every chance to grasp many opportunities. I didn't take any of the opportunities I had, and I suppose I nearly flunked out… When I saw a fight on television, and witnessed a fighter retire, opening up a position in the WCFL roster, I got the crazy idea that maybe I could do something like that. I was 17 at the time, so I wasn't eligible yet… for the few months I had until my 18__th__ birthday, I started building up my strength and such… I caught the attention of a coach; he got me hooked up with my debut, and things never stopped rolling from there. I'm proud of myself."_

_Forging a foothold as the champion of the World-Class Fighting League is a goal only few achieve. Forging that foothold without a flaw on your record is incredibly rare; Alexianos has never lost a fight. Every challenge presented to him, he finds a way to eliminate. By far, Kirzigian is a rarity in the world._

_He works hard for his success though, training even when he has no signed fight contract. His day starts off at 5:30 AM, with a breakfast consisting of bread and milk, then a jog to his private training center. He then works all three main points of a fighter; strength, cardio, and speed, all for two hours each. That's six hours, and his day isn't done._

_Alexianos then works extensive boxing training with his coach, as well as major wresting training to fine tune his skills. The skill training lasts another three hours, putting an entire nine hours of training into a typical day. Kirzigian then heads home for a brief meal, before heading back out for a two-hour jog to finish off his training. In total, that's eleven hours worth of physical training. After that eleven hour training session, the champion then sticks with his coach for another six hours, studying his opponent, working on a game plan, and getting mentally prepared for the coming fight._

_Finally, at 9:30 PM, Kirzigian returns home, exhausted. The man tells us he usually falls asleep "on the first piece of furniture he sits on" due to his incredibly extensive physical and mental training._

_Alexianos has astounding victories over many fighters, making him the #1 in the WCFL; the champion. How long his winning streak will last is determined by the strength and skill of his opponents, as well as Kirzigian's own preparedness. Promising years are ahead of Alexianos Kirzigian surely; he is yet another legend in the World-Class Fighting League._

I sighed slightly and set the book down on my lap. People were astounded by the champ back then, and they never stopped being so amazed by his brutality. The man's fan base was insane; he was idolized by MMA enthusiasts from all around the world, but especially in the United States and Armenia. He was a brutal, skilled, incredibly complex man, with a left hand that brought him the title of "world's greatest". He was the champion for a reason; a reason too many fighters knew all too well. Forty-three, to be exact.

I closed my eyes and envisioned it; that title belt around my waist, and the championship being mine. It was far-fetched, of course.

I found myself coming to a harsh realization; I had struggled my way to six wins. Each fight I had gone through posed a different struggle.

My fight versus Matthew; I had to see if I was truly ready for professional fighting.

My fight versus Nikodemos; I had to prove that I could take on a man who was hostile towards me.

My fight versus Lovino; I had to show that I could adapt to my opponent's style.

My fight versus Ivan; I had to face a fear-inducing man without hesitation.

My fight versus Andelko; I had to endure a beating from a legend.

My upcoming fight would make me face the toughest challenge yet. It was pitting me against the man I loved; my fiancé. Berwald Oxenstierna; "The Beast" of Sweden. I hated the thought; standing in the red corner, staring in those ice-blue eyes with the knowledge that the intensity that came from them was turned against me.

I could imagine it now; those massive muscles in the former bodybuilder working to harm me. Those huge, callused hands, gloved and clenched into fists. Blonde hair dampened by sweat, those fists would make their way towards my face and body, causing bruises and cuts, lacerating my already-scarred face.

A chill ran down my spine. I reached up and felt my face with my fingertips. Scar tissue had taken it's place over my eyebrows and along my cheekbones. I brought my hand to the side of my head, feeling my ear. It had become what was known as a "cauliflower ear". A cauliflower ear was a damaged ear where the scar tissue caused the ear to look deformed, resembling a cauliflower to some, thus giving it it's prolific name.

It was a sign of experience in MMA, but it made people look pretty damn gruff. To me though, being in love with the man with some of the most "cauliflowered" ears on the planet made it an easily likeable feature.

I brought my hand back down to the book on my lap and let out a breath. I had so many scars from my short amount of time in the WCFL. I wondered if I would still look like myself by the time I retired.

I grasped the WCFL book in my left hand and flipped through the pages until I came to the profile of my coach. Three pictures were shown over the pages; one was of Tolvorn during his debut. He seemed so young, with skin untainted by scars. He was standing at the center of the cage with his opponent, ducking away from an overhand punch.

The second photo in the book was of Tolvorn sitting on the ground, a shocked look on his face. His face was battered and cut numerous times; the caption was _"Tolvorn Ryker was shocked when he received his first loss by way of guillotine choke". _I chuckled a bit; the look on his face was priceless. It was kind of odd though, to see my coach all cut up and defeated.

The third photo was of an older-looking Tolvorn, most likely in his thirties, walking out of the cage with a fist raised in the air. It was a picture of his final steps outside the octagon as a professional fighter. His retirement.

I recognized the pose of him standing with his arm up; hadn't I seen it on some sort of logo before? I flipped through some pages and found a fighter named Dagur Jonson. A logo was displayed beside a photo of the young fighter, showing a white silhouette of Tolvorn's exiting pose.

I raised an eyebrow slightly; who was this Dagur Jonson guy, and what connection did he have to my coach? I read the profile carefully.

_Dagur Jonson, born in1984, was the first man to die from injuries sustained in a WCFL fight, at the age of nineteen. Though he didn't die in the cage immediately after the fight, he fell into a coma and later succumbed to his brain trauma, two weeks after his debut fight. The man to deal the blows that "killed" Dagur Jonson was Alexianos Kirzigian. Kirzigian was never charged with any crimes due to the terms of the contracts both he and Dagur had signed._

_Jonson was a kickboxer and BJJ fighter from Denmark, though his parents were Icelandic. He was born in Copenhagen, but moved to the United States after he caught the eye of Icelandic fighter Tolvorn Ryker (now retired). Tolvorn, despite the fact that he was inexperienced with coaching, decided to take the younger Dane under his wing._

_Dagur Jonson, nowadays, isn't mentioned in the WCFL. The chairman, Lodovico Vargas, has sworn to never bring up such a tragic event. His name only remains in books such as this one. Rumors say that Lodovico Vargas has a plaque in his office dedicated to Dagur Jonson, but the rumors have never been confirmed._

I swallowed hard, feeling my heart rate increase. Dagur had been a Danish fighter who Alexianos had _killed…_ or at least, Dagur had died from the traumatic injuries he had sustained by Alex. Still though, it was making me fearful to think that Kirzigian's hits had caused a guy to go into a coma and ultimately die.

I took a deep breath, shutting the book and setting it down. Why did no one ever tell anyone about the tragic death of Dagur Jonson? Why did no one care to mention these things?

I glanced over at my cell phone, deciding to make a call. Grabbing it and looking through my contacts, I pressed the call button beside Tolvorn's name. I then held the phone to my ear, waiting out a few rings before my coach answered.

"_Hey Mathias. What do you need?"_

"I need answers."

"_To what?"_

"Dagur Jonson."

"_D-Dagur? Shit, he's in that book, isn't he?"_

"Yeah, he is. And I want to know the whole story."

"_Dagur… Dagur was the first guy I coached. In 2002 I found him in Copenhagen, much like how I found you. He was a great guy. Great personality, and he was extremely skilled… I got him a fight in 2003 after training him for two months. He got signed to fight Alexianos, which was seen as a good, fair challenge… Dagur lasted two rounds before Alexianos knocked him out cold."_

"_I thought everything was okay, but when the doctors started flagging for the stretcher, I got scared. I followed them to the hospital, but they wouldn't let me see him for a few hours… They determined that he was in a coma… I spent every day for two weeks in that hospital room… Dagur died with his hand in mine. I suppose that after a few months with a guy like Dagur, I grew attached to him… He was like a son, you know? But anyways… He's the only man who was in the WCFL who died from the injuries he sustained. Since he didn't die immediately in the cage once he was knocked unconscious, no one counted it as the WCFL's fault…"_

"_Everyone has kept his death low-key. And that's the way everyone wants it to stay. Dagur told me he didn't want fame. I've stuck to what he's told me, and tried not to make him famous in death. Sadly, the story has gotten out, and people do know about it, but no one likes to mention it. Lodovico personally vowed never to speak of the tragedy. It… It's part of the reason I chose you. You're so much like Dagur… You're Danish, you'd never fought prior to your debut, you're extremely skilled…"_

"So you're saying that you only picked me out of Copenhagen last year because I seemed like Dagur?"

"_Not just that, Mathias. I really did see something in you, and my thoughts were right. You're an amazing fighter, I mean… Just look at you. You're one of the highest-ranked fighters on the planet."_

"I don't understand, Tolvorn… Why didn't you tell me about Dagur before?"

"_I didn't want you thinking that you were just a replacement."_

I sighed. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"_I didn't plan to. But I figure you would find out sooner or later… I just wish that you hadn't found out before your fame really kicked off. You're 6-0, sure, but if you had the title then found out about him… It would have lessened the blow on you. It would have made you think I had moved on from him."_

"You have to understand though, Tolvorn. I kind of like to know things like this early on so that it doesn't hurt me."

"_I'm sorry. I'll remember that."_

I sighed once again. "I'll see you when I get out of the hospital, Tolvorn. Talk to you later."

"_Bye."_

I hung up the phone and set it aside, shaking my head slightly.

I now knew what I was in for if I faced Alexianos. But first came my toughest challenge yet; fighting Berwald Oxenstierna.

My fiancé.


	23. Køhler vs Oxenstierna

Weeks passed slowly, but with time and harsh training, the day finally came for me to enter the octagonal cage in the WCFL Center once again.

The four fights in the event tonight had been incredible. Raivis had defeated Nikodemos after three rounds of fighting, winning a split decision victory on the judge's scorecard. Ludwig "Hammerfist" Beilschmidt had lived up to his nickname, knocking Alexander Johansson out cold with a brutal hammer fist from full mount. Hector Fernandez had won a submission victory over Toris Lorinatus, actually snapping Lorinatus' arm with the arm bar he had locked in. Andelko Begovich stunned the crowd with a third round head kick knockout over Joachim Johansson.

I sat on the bench in the locker room, elbows propped up on my knees, hands clasped in front of my face. I stared down at the ground, knuckles on my fingers pressed against my forehead. This was going to be my toughest challenge yet.

I took a deep breath, feeling no discomfort in my previously broken ribs. It was a good sign. I had trained so hard on cardio, trained so hard on strength, trained so hard on speed, precision, skill; everything there was to train for, I trained it. Tolvorn pushed me to the absolute limit over the past few weeks.

This fight would give me the chance to fight Alexianos Kirzigian, the man who had caused the fatality of Dagur Jonson. It was my goal now to defeat Berwald, and get that title shot. If the title shot became mine, I would take that title from Alexianos. I would avenge Dagur with a victory, and stun the world.

I knew that if I won against Berwald it would still astound the world, but if I defeated Alexianos, everyone would remember me. I would be the pride of Denmark.

"You ready, Mathias?" My coach approached me quietly. I looked up at him.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's do this." I said, standing up and grabbing my mouthpiece off the waistband of my shorts. I placed it in my mouth, feeling the all-too familiar texture of the rubber-like guard over my teeth. I clenched my fists a few times, nodding to my coach, who smiled and led me out the door to the locker room.

As we walked out of the tunnel towards the cage in the center of the arena, the crowd cheered and screamed. Cameras followed my every movement, as did the bright spotlight shining down from the ceiling. I stepped into the cage, taking a deep breath as I stood in the red corner.

I placed my hands on my hips, awaiting my fiancé to exit his locker room. The crowd got extremely load, and the lights shifted over to the other side of the arena, where Berwald exited slowly, making his way to the cage.

I watched him; the heavily-muscled man walked with such intensity, my heart began to race. His fists were clenched, brushing past the edges of his white shorts.

I witnessed as he stepped into the cage, radiating the familiar intensity he always did. It was so much more prominent now though. I was his opponent. I was his enemy. He stood in his corner, unmoving and serious. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, breathing slow in an attempt to calm myself.

The announcer stood at the center of the mat with a microphone, starting to introduce us fighters.

"And now, our main event of the evening, this is a contender fight… Introducing first, fighting out of the red corner with a record of 6-0, this man is a Generalist, fighting out of Copenhagen, Denmark… Standing at six feet tall, weighing one-hundred eighty-five pounds… He is "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

The crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer for me, and I raised a fist in the air. When they died down, the Irish announcer started introducing Berwald.

"Fighting out of the red corner, with a record of 36-4, this man is a wrestler and a boxer, fighting out of Stockholm, Sweden… Standing at six-foot five-inches tall, weighing two-hundred twenty-two pounds, he is Berwald "The Beast" Oxenstierna!"

The crowd became deafeningly loud, cheering and screaming for the person who by all means was the most intense man on the face of the planet.

The media and the coaches cleared the cage after about a minute, leaving just Berwald, the referee, and I on the mat.

The ref, Liam Kirkland, stood at the center of the cage, glancing to Berwald, then to me.

"Fighters ready?" He asked. Berwald and I both got into our stances, my fiancé in his extremely low wrestling stance, me in my casual brawler stance.

"Let's get it on!" Liam swung his arms down, initiating the first round. Berwald and I approached each other slowly.

I placed a fist in the air towards him, and he pounded it in a show of respect between us. The crowd cheered at the display, but I disregarded it. It was all action; just Berwald and I existed in this very moment in the cage.

We stepped away from each other after our gloves touched, but were soon back to circling.

Finally, one of us threw a strike. I lifted my leg and attempted to land a push kick to his stomach, but it was parried heavily. Berwald had shoved my front leg away from me, causing me to loose my balance and fall on my back. I got to my feet quickly to avoid Berwald's incredible ground game.

Just as I stood, he tackled me, shoulder ramming into my stomach. I attempted to sprawl, but was only shoved up against the cage. My breath had been taken from me, so with what time I had to recover, I breathed deeply. Berwald wasn't making it easy though.

He brought his hands down and grasped my thighs, lifting me up over his shoulder. I struggled to get out of his grip before he slammed me down, but it was impossible. I braced myself for the slam.

Berwald slammed me down on my back, which knocked the wind out of me and caused me incredible pain. I placed my hand on the back of his head, holding it down to my chest while I gasped for air. He was in my guard, and I planned on keeping him there until I could breath again.

Alas, Berwald used his ridiculous strength against me once again, wrapping his arms around my chest and picking me up off the ground. Once I was about a foot in the air, he slammed me down once again, though remaining in my guard. I refused to let him get anywhere else.

After a few moments, he shifted his weight, trying to pass to half-guard. I denied him the attempt, now starting to regain my breath.

I took a deep breath then lifted my left foot over Berwald's back, grasping it in my right hand, going into the rubber guard. I placed a quick punch to Berwald's head with my left hand, before attempting to roll over. My attempt was successful, and I now found myself in full mount, sitting on Berwald's stomach. I used all my weight to keep him from moving, and managed to keep him from holding my head down to his chest.

I attempted to punch him with my free hands, but the skilled Swede guarded and parried the hits. I soon found myself clutched tightly to the man's chest in his attempt to escape my strikes.

I writhed my way out of his grasp, getting to my feet and backing away from Berwald. He stood, switching his stance from his typical wrestling stance to his boxing stance. He was now going to go toe to toe with me.

I slid forward, placing a quick combination of punches to my fiancé's body, achieving a few grunts out of him. I then backed up slightly, before attempting to dig a right roundhouse kick into his side. He merely absorbed the hit and grabbed my leg, but I had trained to counter such a thing as this.

I balanced on my left leg for a moment before using all the strength I had to jump and spin, kicking Berwald right in the jaw with my left foot. He let go of my right leg, stumbling backwards. I landed in a push-up position on the ground, smirking slightly. That had actually worked.

"That a-boy Mathias! Great work!" Tolvorn shouted as I got to my feet and turned to Berwald, who now looked extremely intense. He put his fists up as I did the same. We circled for a few seconds before we both went for right punches. He went for an overhand, while I went for an uppercut. Both shots connected, and both of us continued to throw more shots, waiting for one of us to back away.

When we backed away, we both had obtained cuts on our faces. The bridge of my nose had a cut on it, and Berwald's eyebrow was now a bloody mess. The red liquid dripped from our faces and stained the mat below us, joining the stains left by previous fighters.

I surged forward, jumping up and placing a heavy superman punch to Berwald's face, nailing him right in the nose. I felt it crack, and soon the blood was streaming down over his lips and chin. I had just broken my lover's nose with one simple punch, but I knew I was going to get it.

Before I had time to back away, the Swede got in close to me, wrapping his arms around my stomach in the clinch. He shoved me up against the cage, then transitions his hands to the back of my neck. Leaving his left hand on my neck, he brought his right hand towards him, then attempted to use his elbow to strike me down. I brought my arms up and attempted to guard, thankfully doing so successfully. Berwald brought a knee up and struck me in the ribs with it, causing me to cringe in pain. I dropped my guard to try to shove him away. Bad choice.

He got in a good elbow shot, before backing away slightly to extend his arm fully and punch me in the face. Dazed from the two shots, I stumbled away, trying to gain distance from my husband to-be. He pursued me like any good fighter would though, and attempted more strikes. I guarded them thankfully, and parried an uppercut just enough to open up an opportunity to strike. I went around with a heavy right hook, nailing the Swedish man and causing him to stumble away.

We circled for a few moments before the bell was rung to end the round. We both relaxed slightly and went to our corners. I sat in the stool provided to me, as a medical staff member and Tolvorn walked in. as the staff member worked on sealing the cut on my nose and the newer one on my eyebrow, Tolvorn spoke to me.

"You're doing great, Mathias. You've made him adapt to your style, instead of you adapting to his. He's boxing with you now, and throwing in some unorthodox Muay-Thai. You need to keep your guard up and move more. You aren't moving enough to try to get away from his strikes. Berwald's got long arms, and can reach you very easily. Stay on your toes, alright? Keep him questioning where you're going to go. When he comes at you with a shoulder-tackle, what do you do? Move to the side as quick as you can, or knee him in the head. You've got this. That round was hard to call, but if you set the pace and make him fight your fight, you'll win this. Now get in there."

I nodded and stood, taking a few deep breaths. The media and coaches, as well as the medical staff exited, leaving just Berwald, the ref, and I in the cage once again.

Berwald and I got into our stances, and the round was commenced with the swing of the ref's arms.

The Swede and I approached slowly, circling once again. I kept on my toes, bouncing a bit. I shifted forward in an attempt to fake him out, but it didn't work. He remained unfazed and threw a left hook at me, followed by a right straight. I ducked away from the shots, only to receive and uppercut to the chin. I stepped backwards, shaking off the hit.

Berwald shifted his stance, going back into his wrestling stance and opening his hands.

"He's getting comfortable, Mathias! Don't let him get you adapting to him!" Tolvorn shouted.

Listening to my coach, I stayed in my stance, trying hard to neglect my own instinct to shift my stance to a more grounded one. When Berwald dove towards me, I slid to the side, trying to get out of the way. But with one long arm, he managed to pull me into his takedown. I landed hard on the ground, now with Berwald in side mount on top of me.

He used the side of his left fist to pound on my face a few times while I struggled to guard myself. One of my hands was pinned between us, while the other was being held aside by Berwald's free hand.

After a few seconds of being hit in the face repeatedly, I managed to slip my right arm out from in between our bodies and guard myself. Berwald transitioned to full mount, sitting all two-hundred twenty-two pounds he had on my abdomen. I breathed the best I could while he tried to use his giant fists to beat my face in. I guarded with both arms, occasionally having to take a hit due to his hand slipping through my block.

I took a risk and tried to grab his head to pull it down to my chest, but failed miserably when he took advantage of my lack of a guard and placed one hell of a hammer fist on my nose. I knew it was broken when I tasted the blood in my mouth, and felt it running from my nostrils.

I tried not to swallow the blood, so I turned my head to the side slightly and spit out the blood in my mouth, leaving a nice little splatter on the mat.

The ref jumped in for a minute.

"Get off of him. We're going to have the doctors take a look at him." Liam said. Berwald stood and went to his corner. I stood and sighed as I waited for the medical staff to come over.

One of them approached me and examined my nose.

"Definitely broken." He said.

"Tell me something I don't know." I retorted.

"Can you breath through your mouth okay?" He asked. I nodded.

"I'm breathing right now, aren't I?"

"Yes, but will you be able to fight with the rate your breathing is at?"

"Yeah. A little blood in the mouth, but it's nothing too serious. I can fight."

"Alright. But if it gets too bad, we're going to have to stop the fight."

"I know. Now get out of here and let me get back to fighting." I said. The staff member nodded and turned to the ref, giving him a thumbs up.

"Fighters to your corners." Liam said. I went to my corner, as did Berwald. The referee swung his arms down, continuing the fight.

With blood still pouring from our wounds, Berwald and I circled like we always did. Trying something other than punches, I went for an axe kick. I lifted my leg above my head, thankful for my flexibility, and attempted to bring my heel down on Berwald's head. It grazed his hair, but I achieved no such luck with an actual hit.

I guarded a few strikes thrown by Berwald, then went for another kick, slamming the top of my foot into the outside of his lead leg. He stumbled slightly from the strike, giving me a chance to bring in a little something brutal.

I stepped back a bit, the launched a brutal head kick, smacking my shin right into my Swedish fiancé's face. He fell backwards with a thud, but wasn't out. I pursued him on the ground, landing multiple punches to his head and face. He just wouldn't go out cold though, no matter how many strikes I hit him with.

Surprisingly, Berwald managed to grab my arm and pull me into a set up from an arm bar. I resisted heavily, but in my exhaustion, failed to keep him from starting to get the submission locked in.

Thankfully though, the bell rung, and the round ended. Berwald let go of me and slammed a fist on the ground, going over to his corner.

I went over to mine, and sat on the stool provided to me once again. Medical staff worked hard to stop the bleeding on my face, while Tolvorn spoke yet again.

"You've got this, Mathias. You almost had him that round. Take his leg out again, and bring in that head kick. You can do this. How's the blood in your mouth?" He asked.

"Not too bad. I'll have to start spitting it out occasionally though." I said.

"Spit it out whenever needed, just don't spit on Berwald. That'll get you disqualified. I don't need you to change your plan though. You're doing great. Just rest a bit while you still can."

I tilted my head down and let the blood from my mouth out, leaving splattered droplets on the mat. By the time the small break was over, there was a small red puddle there. I wiped my mouth on the back of my glove, sighing.

"I've got this." I told myself as I stood. The coaches, staff, and media left the cage. I watched as Berwald shook his arms a bit to ward off soreness, those ice blue eyes boring into mine mercilessly. In the cage, Berwald was no fiancé of mine. He was my enemy. Once we stepped out though, we would go back to being the affectionate couple we were.

The referee stood in the center of the mat once again, and swung his arms down when Berwald and I got into our stances. The bell was rung, starting the third and final round of this contender match.

Berwald and I, now showing how tired we were, moved towards each other in poor stances. Exhaustion was setting in. One of us was going out this round; the judge's scorecards would be of no use soon.

I took a deep breath, staring Berwald in the eyes. This was it. I was going to go all out.

I surged forward, throwing all my strength into a hard kick to the inside of Berwald's lead leg. The Swede lifted up his leg just in time to absorb the hit, using his reach to strike me with a hard hook.

Though the shot hurt, I ignored it and got in close, throwing punches at Berwald's head. He defended the best he could, and succeeded at countering and punching me in the jaw. I took the hit like I had the previous one.

A minute ticked by with similar fighting between the both of us; one or two good shots in, the rest blocked. One or two shots in, the rest blocked. The process repeated until I managed to fake him out.

I faked a push kick to his abdomen.

He brought his arms down to guard his stomach, which gave me a chance to unleash a head kick. I lifted my leg above my head and slammed my heel down on the top of Berwald's head.

"The Beast" fell down to one knee, then went down for good, unconscious. The referee jumped in and stopped the fight, and I shouted in pure elation, flexing my muscles. I raised my arms in the air, grinning. I had done it. I had beat Berwald "The Beast" Oxenstierna, not only one of the strongest fighters in the WCFL, but my fiancé.

Tolvorn hurried over to me and hugged me tightly.

"I knew you could do it, Mathias! I knew it! That was amazing!" He exclaimed.

"Couldn't have done it without you, coach!" I said, bear-hugging the older man. He laughed as I set him down.

He handed me my sponsor's t-shirt and I slipped it on, not caring much if I got blood on it. I went to the center of the ring where Liam awaited with Brian O'Keeffe close by. Berwald had awoken from his unconsciousness, and slowly made his way to the other side of Liam.

The referee grabbed a hold of both our wrists as Brian O'Keefe spoke in the microphone.

"And now, declaring the winner by knockout at one minute, thirty-eight seconds in the third round… Mathias "The Rookie" Køhler!"

The crowd cheered insanely loud as my arm was raised in the air by Liam, then let go of. I grinned and raised my other arm up. I put them down and went over to Berwald, who was standing there, looking down, shaking his head.

I placed a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at me. He smiled slightly.

"Good job." He said. I chuckled a bit and hugged the man.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you too bad, Berwald. Just had to win this, you know?"

"Yeah. I know… Y' deserve that title, Mathias. Make m' the happiest man alive, and defeat Kirzigian. If y' d' that, I'll b' able t' retire peacefully."

"You have my word, Berwald. I'll beat him, for you, for everyone."

"Alright. Y' better get going. Get a shower and get your nose fixed."

"Yeah, no kidding. You too, Berwald." I laughed slightly and hugged him once again before exiting the cage with Tolvorn.

I went to the locker room and got showered, getting dressed in some casual clothes before exiting the room and heading to the small infirmary in the hallway. Doctor Bartholomues was waiting for me.

"Hello Mathias. Let's get you stitched up. I can see you got pounded on pretty bad, but you came out with the win. Impressive to say the least." He said as I sat on one of the beds in the room.

The man carefully cleaned my wounds and stitched them up then sighed a bit.

"Do you want me to realign your nose? Or do you want it left out of place?" He asked.

"Realign it, please." I responded. The Dutch doctor nodded and placed one hand on my shoulder to hold me there, then pinched the bridge of my nose between two fingers on his free hand.

"Now hold still." He said. I took a breath through my mouth and held it in, forcing myself to be still while he jerked the bridge of my nose back into straightness with a crack. Blood freely drained from my nostrils like they had been since Berwald broke my nose.

Doctor Bart let go of me and I groaned a bit.

"It'll hurt for a while. I'll give you some painkillers to take." He said.

"Something strong, please." I told him.

"Alright…" He muttered, going over to a shelf and retrieving a few pills for me, along with a cup of water. He brought them over and took the pills without hesitation, drinking a bit of the water. He then walked over to that shelf again and grabbed a white cloth, tossing it to me.

"Here. No one needs a trail of blood in their hallways."

I chuckled a bit and placed the cloth over my nostrils, blocking the blood.

"You should be good to go to the post-fight conference. Head on out of here now." The doctor waved me off and I stood from the bed, heading down the hall with Tolvorn to the conference room.

After the post-fight conference, I headed home for the night.

When I arrived at my apartment, I laid down in bed and sighed, reaching over and grabbing my phone off the bedside table. I had a few texts from my parents, as well as a few from some friends I had back in Copenhagen. I didn't bother to reply to any of them.

I preferred passing out.


	24. Situation of Separation

The morning after my fight with Berwald, I awoke with insane soreness spanning my entire body. It took all of my strength and will to weakly crawl out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I opened the medicine cabinet and reached for a bottle of painkillers, taking three of the pills without need for water.

Good God, I ached.

I looked at myself in the mirror; my face and body were in horrible shape. My nose was covered by a bandage, and my face was heavily bruised. Some swelling still remained around the areas where the stitches were, but it didn't disfigure my features greatly.

My arms had been turned a sickening purplish hue from the blocks I had performed, and my sides were a similar color.

I sighed and ran a hand through my messy hair, a wave of pain coursing through my arm with the action.

"Fuck…" I cursed out of frustration. It hurt so bad to move. If this was what it felt like to fight against Berwald, I couldn't imagine the post-fight ache of a Kirzigian brawl.

I exited the bathroom and went over to my bedside table, picking up my phone and responding to the texts I had received last night. As I was in the middle of typing, I received a phone call from none other than Tolvorn. I sighed and answered the call, holding the phone up to my ear.

"Hey, coach…" I muttered.

"_How're you feeling, rookie?"_

"Like hell… It hurts to do anything and everything."

"_Well I suppose you're going to have to suck it up and come to the café. Tino is throwing a sort of celebration for your win. A few fighters, a coach or two, Berwald, and Alexianos are going to be there."_

"What time do you plan on me being there?"

"_Could you make it around two?"_

"Depends. What time is it right now?"

"_Five 'till one."_

"I guess I can make it. I just have to get a shower, get dressed, and I'll head down."

"_I'm guessing you just woke up, huh?"_

"Yeah."

"_Not surprising, considering how hard you worked last night."_

"No kidding…"

"_Well, I'll let you go. See you in a little while."_

"Yeah. See you, coach."

I hung up the phone and tossed it on my bed carelessly, meandering back to the bathroom and stripping down for a shower. Once my shower was over with, I dried off then got dressed in some black sweatpants, a red tank top, a white track jacket, and a pair of sneakers.

I grabbed my phone off of my bed then went out of the bedroom, heading to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of water out of my fridge then swiped my car keys off of the kitchen table before heading out of my apartment.

Once I was in my car, I put the keys in the ignition and checked the clock. It was 1:45 PM; I had enough time to get to the café by 2:00.

After about a ten minute drive, I arrived at the café, parking in an open spot and shutting off my car. I hopped out and sighed a bit, heading inside.

In the café, multiple people awaited. Berwald, his coach Antonio, Tolvorn, and Raivis sat at one table, while Tino, Alexianos, and two middle-aged people stood nearby.

"Hey, there's the rookie!" Tolvorn said, grinning and standing. He walked up to me and hugged me tightly. I groaned a bit and hugged him back.

"Little sore there, Mathias?" He asked as he let me go.

"Yeah…" I replied. I went over to an open chair next to Berwald and sat down. He looked extremely wiped our from the fight last night.

"How're you doing, Berwald?" I asked my fiancé.

"I'm alright. Sore as hell, but when I'm used t' fighting people who leave m' in bad shape." He replied, smiling a bit at me. I reached over and grasped his hand in mine.

"Love you."

"Love y' too, Mat."

I sighed and looked to the side of the room by the register counter where Alexianos was talking with the two middle-aged people. Maybe I was just stereotyping, but they looked to be Armenian. Tino stood by Alexianos, a worried look on his face. As the talking between the people became heated, everyone began to listen.

"Have you forgotten your roots, Alexianos?" The middle-aged man asked.

"No, dad, I just-" Alexianos was cut off. With what he had managed to say, I concluded that he was talking with his parents.

"Yes, Alex, you have! You are not the proud Armenian man we expected you to be; you've turned into a perfect example of corruption! You may have all this fame and fortune, but do you really care what it's doing to everyone around you?"

"Hayk, please don't be so harsh; he hasn't been to his homeland in eleven years." Alexianos' mother tried to calm her husband.

"No, Sophik, our son needs to understand that when he left those many years ago, we expected him to keep himself in check. What had he done? Gone off and become this… ridiculous stereotype." Hayk retorted.

"How have I become a stereotype?" Alexianos questioned.

"You've become a greedy, corrupted, uncaring man. You promised us when you started to get famous that you'd never become a stereotypical celebrity. What do you do? You become this mess. I am no longer proud of what you've become, my son." Hayk's voice was filled with a shocking malevolence. Alexianos stood silent, face emotionless for a while before he clenched his fists and looked down.

"Fine… I'll accept your hatred for me for what it is then, father…" Alexianos turned and went into the kitchen quickly, followed by a concerned Tino. Hayk crossed his arms and stood there quietly, muttering in Armenian. His wife cast him a glance, then looked worriedly to the kitchen.

"Leave him be, Sophik. He is a coward on the inside." Hayk turned and exited the café, not followed by Sophik. I stood from my chair and went over to the woman, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" I asked, figuring that helping her out was the best thing I could do at the moment.

"… I don't understand… Alexianos may not be the same as we remember him to be, but… change naturally comes to people when they live a lifestyle for so long. Hayk cannot accept the fact that Alexianos has changed; but why? He is typically so accepting…" The woman replied, looking to me, then glancing back to the kitchen.

"I guess Hayk is just a stubborn sort… but gradually he'll accept it. At least, I hope so. I know there's good in Alexianos. Back when I was new in the WCFL, he was a nice guy to me. He helped train me and such, but… as I rose up in ranks, he gradually became less and less tolerant of me, and we've became tangled in each other's personal lives. It's a tough situation, but I think it'll be resolved, just like things will be resolved between him and his father."

"I hope so…"

"I'll talk with Alexianos, if you'd like me to."

"I don't know… Would it aggravate things?"

"Well, we won't know until we try."

I went to the kitchen door and opened it, revealing a scene that I hadn't expected to walk into. Alexianos was sitting on the floor against the wall, tears freely running from his eyes. Tino stood at the opposite side of the kitchen leaning against a sink, holding a white cloth against the right side of his face.

"Is everything okay…?" I asked. Alexianos looked away from me, and I went over to Tino.

"You alright?"

The Finnish man slowly shook his head. Out of curiosity and care, I reached up, gently placing a hand on the cloth he was holding. I took it carefully away from his face, heart skipping a beat when it revealed a cut on the man's swollen and bruised cheek.

"Tino… did he… did he hit you…?" I asked. Tino's lips trembled, and he nodded slightly before starting to cry. I pulled him into a hug for a moment before letting him go and approaching Alexianos.

"I hope you realize what you've done." I said. The Armenian man looked up at me.

"I hope you realize that I know I've done wrong. I don't need you to rub it in like salt to an open wound. I know I'm not as perfect as someone like you."

"I'm not trying to rub it in. No one's perfect, Alexianos. I'm far from it… but I really want things to be resolved for you. I don't know if you've realized it yet, but your own stubbornness is getting to be the death of your relationships with everyone."

Alexianos sighed shakily. "Allow Tino to stay at your apartment, please… I… I don't want him near me until I've come to terms with myself. I don't want to harm him again."

I nodded my head. "Of course. Just say the word when you've made sense of everything."

"… I'll be going now…" Alexianos muttered as he stood.

"Good luck, Alexianos." I told him as he walked past me. Receiving no reply as the man exited the kitchen, I returned to Tino.

"Looks like you're staying with me while Alexianos gets things sorted out." I informed him. He nodded his head slightly.

"I-I'm sorry you have to deal with a-all this…" He muttered.

"It's not your fault, Tino. I'm just glad to help you out… I don't think anyone deserves to go through this kind of hell; especially someone like you. You've struggled with alcoholism throughout the years and I'm not about to let you return to being an alcoholic. Just think; at least Alexianos is starting to come to his senses and try to sort things out with himself."

"Th-Thank you, Mathias… I-I'll make it up to you someday… I promise."

"You don't have to make it up to me, man. Consider this a favor."

"… Th-Thanks…"

"It's not a problem, Tino. Let me see that cut on your cheek real quick."

Tino moved the cloth he was holding away from his face, revealing the cut that adorned his cheek once again. The gash wasn't deep, but it was bleeding quite a bit, and was of decent size.

"… I think you may need stitches, Tino…" I said. "Which hand did he hit you with?"

"H-His left…"

"… That's what I suspected… Come on; I'll drive you to the hospital." I placed a hand on Tino's shoulder and led him out of the kitchen. When we got to the exit-entrance door to the café, I turned to those who were in the café.

"Watch the place while Tino's gone, alright? I have to take him to the hospital…" I said.

"Alright." Tolvorn replied. I nodded a bit then turned back to the door, exiting with Tino. We went to my car and got in, and as I drove out of the parking lot I glanced to the Finnish café owner.

"I'm really sorry about all the shit that's been going on between you and Alexianos… I can understand what fame and fortune has done to that man… What his dad said, though harsh, is somewhat true." I commented.

"I-I know… I-I just… I worry about Alexianos… He's my husband… a-and for his own father to practically disown him… It tears me apart to see Alex's personal life going to hell… It's not his fault that he's become so unstable. I try to be there for him… I-I really do, but… He's so focused on the WCFL, and keeping that title around his waist… I hate to say it… but I-I want you to win your fight against him, Mathias. I want you to get him back to being humble…"

"I can try my best… but there's no guarantee that I'll be able to beat him. He's such an experienced, amazing fighter… He hasn't lost a single fight… I know people are thinking that I'm the one who's going to beat him, but… What guarantees that? A 6-0 record? People have better records than me, and they're lower ranked."

"You're unique to the league. No one sees someone come out of an office job with such natural skill in fighting… I mean, just look at you. At the beginning of your career, you came into the cage with no experience to back yourself up. You've forged a foothold in the WCFL bigger than most have… You're one of the most popular fighters in the world right now, and yet… You remain so humble…"

"It's just how I am… I try not to let the money I earn corrupt me. I try not to let the fame get to my head. Sure, it's great, but I never forget who I am… I'm just like everyone else; just with a bit more of a messed up face." I tried to add humor to the conversation, which was successful in making Tino chuckle and smile slightly.

"I've seen much worse faces than yours, Mathias. You ever looked at some of the retired fighter's faces?"

"Yeah. Some of them got really messed up back when they fought."

"No kidding…"

When we arrived at the hospital, we had to wait in the lobby until they could take Tino to get his cheek stitched up.

Once we got out of the hospital, I looked to the Finnish man.

"Now you match me." I said, pointing to the stitches on my face. He laughed and smacked my arm.

"Shut up." He joked.

"Nah. I'd rather not."

We got back in my car, and as I drove, I asked the younger man a question.

"So you're going to need some things from your house, right?"

"Yeah… I don't think Alexianos would go straight home after leaving like he did, so I should be able to go there without having to deal with him…" A tad bit of sorrow clung to the last part of Tino's sentence as he spoke.

"How about we go there so you can get your things, then we'll head to my apartment."

"Sounds fine by me…"

I changed my course to Tino and Alexianos' house; it was just a step under a mansion compared to a lot of places. It was towards the edge of the city, and was incredibly well-maintained. In the front lawn, there were two flagpoles; one held the Finnish flag up, the other held the Armenian flag.

"God, whenever I see this place, I can't help but be in awe. Are you sure this isn't classified as a mansion?" I asked as I parked in front of the garage after driving up the driveway.

"I'm sure. It's just a really nice country house. Come on in if you want. Have something to drink. I'm pretty sure that I know where Alexianos went… so, if I'm right, he won't be home for a while." He explained, getting out of my car. I got out as well, following the Finnish man in through the door in the garage.

The inside of the house was incredibly clean; almost as if it was never touched. Some pictures hung on various places on the walls; one caught my eye though. Curiously, I approached it and looked to it.

"… This Alex…?" I asked. In the picture was a man who resembled a younger Alexianos; perhaps the champion in his teens. Tino approached and looked at the picture with a sad smile.

"Yeah. That's him when he was eighteen… Kind of skinny back then, wasn't he?"

"No kidding… Now he's built better than me."

"Yeah… Well, I'm going to pack up my stuff from my bedroom. You can grab a drink or something out of the fridge if you'd like. I don't care."

"Thanks." I said as the Finn walked off up a flight of stairs. I went to his kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water off of one of the shelves. There was a variety of things in the fridge; half of the more odd-looking things were probably Finnish, but what did I know about Tino's home country's cuisine?

I shut the fridge door and turned around, opening the bottle of water, and taking a drink. After a few minutes of just meandering around the nearby rooms looking at pictures, Tino returned downstairs with a small duffel bag of what I assumed was clothes.

"You ready to go, Tino?" I asked, turning to him. He nodded and I smiled at him, heading to the door we had entered the house in. I opened the door and went out through the garage to my car. Tino exited, locking the door behind him.

"Just toss your stuff in the back seat." I said to the Finn as we got in the car. He shoved his duffel bag in the back seat of my car and sighed a bit.

"I suppose I'll be sleeping on the couch at your place?" He asked.

"If you want, you can take my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch." I replied as I pulled out of his driveway.

"There's no way I could kick you out of your own bed like that."

"Consider it a favor. You deserve a comfortable sleep after what happened today. My couch is like a rock when you aren't completely exhausted from training or fighting."

"… I guess I'll take your bed just for tonight…"

"Good. I'll be alright sleeping on the couch, so don't worry. It won't hurt me more then Berwald did when we fought."

"That was a pretty brutal fight… I can't believe how high you can lift that leg of yours."

"It's taken a lot of training to get it right and not pull a muscle… Doing something like an axe kick takes a lot of leg strength, and a lot of precision. I mean, you have to bring your leg above your head and bring it down with strength in order for it to be effective, but you need to be accurate as well."

"Yeah. I think you're about the second most flexible man in the WCFL."

"Who's the first?"

"Alexander Johansson. He's incredibly flexible. Have you ever watched one of his fights?"

"I watched his fight with Berwald not too long ago. The one that fractured Berwald's wrist."

"I remember that one… That was the night you faced Novak Novkovic, wasn't it?"

"Yep."

"That was an impressive fight, I have to say. Hell, I'm impressed by every fight you've had. You're a great fighter."

"Thanks, Tino."

"You're welcome."

As we got to my apartment, I parked in the parking lot and got out of the car. Just as I shut the door, my cell phone rang from in my pocket. I reached into the pocket and grabbed my phone, looking at the caller ID. It was Lodovico. I tossed Tino my apartment key and told him to head on up to the apartment before I answered the phone.

"Hey Lodovico. What's up?" I held the phone up to my ear and leaned against the hood of my car.

"_Hey Mathias. I've got some advertising for your upcoming fight I need you to attend to. Francis Bonnefoy is our advertisement manager; if you come on down to the WCFL offices, we'll get to work on exactly how we're going to do the advertisements. I can't get a hold of Alexianos at the moment, so we'll have to wait until we can get a hold of him for the two-person advertisements."_

"Alright. I'll be at the offices in a little bit."

"_See you soon."_

"Yeah, see you." I hung up the phone and shoved it back in my pocket, heading to my apartment to tell Tino where I was going. I opened the unlocked door and stepped in.

"Hey Tino?" I called out to the Finn.

"Yeah?" The other man responded from what was probably my bedroom.

"I have to head to the offices for some advertising for my upcoming fight. I'm not sure when I'll get back, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to give me a call."

"Alright."

"Be back later, Tino." with that, I headed back out of my apartment, heading back to my car. I got in and headed to the WCFL offices, which were busy like usual.

I headed inside the offices, walking to Lodovico's office. I opened the door and waved a bit to the chairman, who was sitting at his desk, with retired fighter Francis Bonnefoy sitting in a chair in front of it.

"Good afternoon, rookie. Hope you don't mind me getting you to do this advertising work today of all days. I know you're sore from your fight, but in order to get this fight even more hype behind it, I want this advertising done as soon as possible." Lodovico explained, looking to me.

"I can understand that." I replied, taking a seat at an open chair next to Francis.

"Alright, Francis, explain to Mathias here what we need done."

"Well, Mathias," Francis began as I looked to him. "Obviously we are going to need some pictures and a video put together, as well as a voice-over. Specifically, we need you to talk about your game plan and how you're going to beat Kirzigian. If you'll come with me, I'll take you to the studio, and we'll get some things done."

"Sounds good."

Francis stood, and headed out of the offices with me following close behind. We walked down a nearby hall and went through a door, entering a studio that was like a combination of a photography, video, and recording studio.

"Welcome to what I like to call the WCFL studios, Mathias. You haven't been here before, though your image has." Francis said.

"Pretty nice-looking place…" I commented.

"It is; I have to admit. Now, let's get to work here." The Frenchman led me to the photography area of the studio, where a white screen and a few cameras, along with other equipment I couldn't quite name, resided.

"For this first advertisement, Lodovico wants two pictures put into one image to be used in a montage video. One of the pictures, he wants of you in casual clothing. What you're wearing right now will be fine. The other picture will be in fight gear; mouth guard and all. Both pictures will be side-profile pictures from around the knee up."

"Alright."

"Now, let's take the first picture; the casual. We may have to take it a few times so that I can get the settings right, but we have time. Get onto the center of the white screen, and face to the side."

I followed Francis' directions for the photography the best I could. After about three hours of going between photography, audio recording, and working on a video montage with the French former fighter, we had my part of the advertisement finished.

"You do wonders editing out the flaws I have right now. Stitches and bruising… It astounds me." I commented as he and I watched the video on a computer screen.

"I went to college for this kind of stuff. Sure, I may be turning into an old man, but I am more knowledgeable with technology like this than most people out there. I believe this to be a piece of artwork." He replied.

"So you consider yourself an artist of many trades?"

"Precisely. Now, once Kirzigian is reached and we are able to get his montage complete, we will have the two videos put together, and finish up with some more filming with both you and Kirzigian in the same clip. Hopefully you two can restrain from killing each other while you're in the same vicinity. I know there's some bad blood between you and Kirzigian."

"How do you know?"

"Oh please, rookie, have you seen the news? There are pictures and some small clips people have caught on their own of you, Kirzigian, and a few others involved in this little… situation of yours."

"What do you think is going on?"

"Well, from what I have read, Kirzigian's husband is unfaithful to him, and is going your way now. Actually, when you walked into Lodovico's office, we were reading an article that had just been published with a picture of you and Tino in the same car."

I clenched my fists. "That's not what's going on, God damn it. Tino is not cheating on Alexianos with me. He and Alexianos are having some marital problems, and Tino is just staying with me for a little while so that things can simmer down a bit. Some events have happened that have gotten our lives messed into the others. Alexianos has injured me outside of the ring, and has hit Berwald, as well as Tino. He's hit Tino twice; cut him open today. Tino had to get stitches for it."

"… So Kirzigian is abusive?"

"Not completely. He has hit Tino, but it's not something he does all the time. I know he feels bad for hitting Tino. I know he does. You haven't been able to get a hold of him today, because he's trying to figure things out in his head. He's been having a lot of trouble with family and friends. I can't blame him for not answering calls or anything."

"I see… I will give him a day or two before I will tell Lodovico to call him again."

"Please don't inform Lodovico about what Kirzigian has done. I don't just have to fight him; I need to fight him. I need to get him off his throne and get him back to earth. It's for the sake of a lot of people. Mainly for the sake of Kirzigian and Tino's marriage."

"So this isn't just any regular fight to you… This is a mission of sorts. Something you feel you need to do."

"Exactly. If this turns out to be the final fight of my MMA career due to the condition my body is in, I'm going to be sure to win the fight. Alexianos need to be kicked off his throne, even if it's only temporary."

"I can understand completely… You have my word that I will not inform anyone of what has occurred."

"Thank you, Francis…"

"Please, call me François. It is my true first name; I was only called Francis during my days as a fighter."

"Alright. Thanks then, François."

"You're welcome, Mathias."


	25. Spiraling Mind

After a few days of training without a contract, Lodovico finally managed to get a hold of Alexianos, and get him down to the WCFL offices in order to sign for the fight. I, for one, was happy to finally be getting the contract signed. This was a pivotal moment in WCFL history, and it was proved as I walked into the office of the chairman.

The media awaited in the room for my entrance; Kirzigian was already in the room, sitting in a chair in front of Lodovico's desk with his coach standing next to him. I sat down in an open chair in front of the desk, as did Tolvorn. The lenses of the cameras in the room followed my every move; the cameramen were rather determined to get this on film.

"Well," Lodovico began. "Looks like we've got a pretty… intense fight coming up. Two undefeated fighters going into the cage. I'm proud of both of you for making it this far in your careers. Alexianos, you're a veteran of the league. You've been here for almost eleven years now. Mathias, you've been here for around a year. Both of you are incredibly successful. I'm going to tell both of you now, signing this contract endangers both of your lives."

"Alexianos, you may bear the strongest punches on the planet, but Mathias has equally powerful strikes. Both of you are undefeated in your careers for many reasons; skill, strength, speed, cardio, mentality… This will be the biggest challenge of both your careers. Mathias, you are 7-0. Alexianos, you are 41-0. That's a 34 fight difference, but a difference that doesn't matter when it comes to how talented you both are." Lodovico slid a piece of paper onto the desk.

"This is no ordinary contract. This is what I like to call a do-or-die contract. Now, I have never put this kind of contract into effect ever before, but I feel this is the fight I will put it to. The terms of this contract; ten two minute rounds. Everything is legal except strikes to the spine, groin, neck, and back of the head, and strikes with the point of the elbow. The winner of this fight will either become, or remain champion. The loser will be forced to retire for at least five years before they can return to the World Class Fighting League."

My eyes went wide, heart sipping a beat. If I lost this fight, I was going to be forced to retire.

"This is the most risky contract the WCFL offers. Sign at your own risk. By signing this contract, you are aware of the fact that you could die in the conflict. You are also aware of the fact that if you lose, you will be forced to retire, and that you cannot return to the WCFL's roster for a full five years." The chairman slid the contract over to Alexianos and the Armenian man's coach, then placed a pen on top of the paper.

Silently, both the champion and his coach signed the contract. They slid it back to Lodovico, who then moved it over to Tolvorn and I. I glanced to my coach, looking to him for an answer to if I should sign it or not. He nodded slightly, and with a shaky hand, I grabbed the pen, signing my name on the contract. I handed the pen to Tolvorn, and he signed as well, sliding the contract back to Lodovico.

"Very well, then. The contract is signed. Six weeks from now, you will fight for the title. I'm looking forward to this. Now, Alexianos, we need you to stay here for a while to get advertising done. Mathias, you can go."

I stood and looked to Alexianos, who was simply staring into space, no emotions showing. It was scary to see the man so inexpressive, but I had to disregard it. He was my enemy.

I turned and exited the offices, followed by Tolvorn. Quietly, we both headed to the gym across the street. Once in the gym, I looked to the Icelandic man.

"Are you sure we should have signed that…?" I asked.

"I'm confident in you, Mathias. For the next six weeks, I'm going to put you through hell to get you ready for this fight. Thankfully though, I'm prepared. I've talked to a lot of the guys who have fought Kirzigian, and some of them are willing to help you. Take a look in the ring." Tolvorn motioned to the first of the two rings in the gym, where three fighters awaited me, in their fight gear already.

"How're you guys doing today?" He asked them.

"We're doing just fine, Tolvorn." One replied; I recognized him to be "The Veteran" Sadik Adnan.

"Mathias, meet the three guys you're going to be training with for the next six weeks." Tolvorn motioned to Adnan. "Sadik Adnan; one of the few original-roster WCFL fighters left. He's a striker mainly, but has expert ground game as well. He is the man who lost the championship title to Alexianos."

"I'm confident that with the right training, you'll beat Kirzigian, Mathias. Coming from a guy like me, that's rare. But don't think these next six weeks are going to be easy. I'm going to get you prepared for this upcoming fight. The mental game of fighting is just as important as any, and that's what I'm going to help you with." Sadik said. Tolvorn then motioned to the next man. I smiled when I realized who it was.

"You know this man already, Mathias. "The Southern Slavic Legend" Andelko Begovich. Kickboxing expert, legend in the eyes of the WCFL. He has his name for a reason."

"It's been a while, Mathias. Glad you've got your shot at the title, but I'm warning you now, it takes going through hell and back just to get ready for the fight. I'm going to be helping you with your striking offense, and defense." Andelko explained. Tolvorn then motioned to the last guy. I vaguely recognized him.

"This is Alexander Johansson. Not so recognizable since he cut his hair, but that's beside the point. He's a Jiu-Jitsu expert, who has world-class experience. Not only does he compete in the WCFL, but he also participates in a second league, the Europeisk Kampene Liga. He has been champion of the EKL four times. In his career, he has never won by KO, TKO, or a judge's decision. Every win he has achieved, has been by submission."

"In all seriousness, Mathias, I'm only about twenty percent confident that you can win this fight as you are. With the proper training though, I believe you can raise that confidence to a winning chance. I'm going to help you with your ground game, primarily transitioning and submissions." Alexander sounded less than thrilled to be here, but he was going to help me out on what was probably my weakest link; submissions.

"You ready to get started, Mathias?" Sadik questioned.

"Sure." I replied.

"Get yourself dressed and in this ring then. Tolvorn; shoo. For the next six weeks, you get a break from coaching." Sadik waved off my coach, who waved a goodbye then exited the gym. I chuckled a bit and went to the locker room, getting myself dressed in proper MMA gear. A pair of red shorts, a pair of gloves, and a mouth guard, which I put on the waistband of my shorts for the time being.

I exited the locker room, and went back out to the ring, hopping in with the three other WCFL fighters.

"Alright, Mathias. Here's what I want you to do; I'm going to have you stand-up spar with Andelko here first, then when I tell you to switch, start ground sparring with Alexander. Once I tell you enough sparring, I want you to hop out of the ring, do a lap around the gym, get back in, and repeat the cycle. We're going to do this for an hour, so I hope you're ready."

"Sounds alright." I said, grabbing my mouth guard and putting it into place over my teeth.

"Andelko, Alexander; you guys ready?" Sadik looked to the other two fighters, who nodded. Andelko stood towards one corner, while I got in position in the opposite corner. It was déjà vu to be in this kind of spot with the Croatian legend in front of me. Having fought him before, I knew his style. Sparring with him was going to be rather smooth.

"Begin." Sadik said. Andelko and I circled each other for a moment before I threw a few punches; two to his head, two to his body. The Croatian man spun on his lead foot, hitting me hard with a spinning back fist.

I took a step back, avoiding a punch from the legendary fighter. I then countered with a hard roundhouse to the ribs. We sparred, back and forth, attacking, guarding, and countering for around three minutes.

"Switch." Sadik finally ordered. I went to the corner I had previously been in, and Alexander went to his. We circled a bit before I went for a takedown, successfully getting him to the ground. I was in full guard, but carelessly, I left myself open for a submission. Alexander grabbed a hold of my left arm and brought it down the center of his body in a set up for an arm bar.

Using a strength I didn't even know the Norwegian had, he placed one leg on my chest and the other on my stomach, forcing me onto my back, and holding me there. I resisted against his submission, but it was impossible; I tapped before Alexander could snap my arm. He let go of me and we both stood.

"Alright, Mathias, do a lap." Sadik commanded. I got out of the ring and ran a lap around the gym, before hopping back in, where Andelko awaited me.

We went through that routine for an hour, like Sadik had first said. By that time, I was completely exhausted; it felt like I had ran at least one hundred laps around the gym, and had been submitted and hit hard more than I needed to be.

"Take a half hour break, then meet up back in this ring, guys." The Turkish veteran fighter ordered. I nodded and exited the ring, heading over to a bench and sitting down. Andelko was nice enough to get into his bag and toss me a water bottle and a small towel.

"Thanks." I said to the Croatian, who walked over and sat next to me. I opened the water that he had given me and took a drink, before placing the towel had had given me around my neck.

"You're welcome, rookie."

I wiped my face with the towel, watching Sadik and Alexander speak in the boxing ring we had been training in. Alexander seemed to be asking the Turkish man a question about a move or technique, seeing that the Norwegian demonstrated the start of a standing submission on the man.

It was an arm bar of sorts, but instead of initiating it from the ground, it began from a standing position. Alexander seemed to be a bit confused about it, so Sadik took it upon himself to do it the correct way to show the other fighter exactly how the technique worked.

Alexander went for a straight punch with his left hand, and Sadik grabbed his arm, cleverly using one foot on the ropes to hoist himself onto the shoulder of the other man. As Alexander fell to the mat, Sadik locked in the submission without resistance, forcing the Norwegian to tap.

"That's a wicked submission… You ever done anything like that, Andelko?" I turned to the Croatian beside me.

"I've tried once or twice. Haven't ever locked one in before though. My Jiu-Jitsu training is limited to what coaches can teach me. I'm predominantly a striker though, so I don't worry too much about being able to end the fight on the ground."

"But you're still classified a kick boxer and a Jiu-Jitsu fighter."

"Yeah; that's just so people know what my ground training is."

"Hm… Have you ever fought Sadik?" I questioned Andelko, though turning my head back to the two fighters in the ring. They were still talking about that same submission, and experimenting with it.

"Four times." Andelko responded, watching the two fighters as well.

"Really? How many times have you won?"

"Twice. Once by left head kick, one by doctor stoppage TKO."

"Doctor stoppage? How'd you manage to get a doctor stoppage facing Sadik of all people?"

"Kneed him so hard in the side, I cracked two of his ribs. Broke one."

"I know that feeling; it sucks."

"I know you know that feeling. I have a habit of injuring the people I fight. I injured you when I did that heel kick of mine…"

"I'm guessing you're used to the feeling of bones cracking or breaking when you hit someone, huh?" I joked. The other man chuckled.

"You have to be used to it when you have as hard of strikes as I do."

"Can I ask you a question, Andelko?"

"Sure."

"What is your honest opinion of my fighting style?"

"… Your fighting style is something to envy. You're a, amazing striker one moment, then you're an incredible ground fighter the next. Your punches are precise, your kicks are remarkable, your takedowns are explosive, your transitions are smooth, your submissions, though not numerous, are to be feared. You've got a strong future ahead of you; even if you don't beat Alexianos, you will get your next contract within a week after, and go on to keep fighting amazing fights."

"Well… Not exactly. I signed a special contract for my fight."

"Special contract?"

"Lodovico called it a do-or-die contract."

"A do-or-die… Wait, a do-or-die contract? That's the contract where if you lose, you retire for five years, correct?"

"Yeah…"

"How could Lodovico possible offer that kind of contract when you've only had seven fights in your career? You've been in the WCFL for a year; that's preposterous that Lodovico would let you sign something like that."

"Well… I guess he either wants me out of the WCFL, or wants Kirzigian out."

"If you leave for five years, you'll surely come back… Kirzigian won't."

"This could be my last fight, regardless if I win or not. My ribs are in such terrible condition. I've had two plates put in; it's a miracle that I can still fight."

"Try being like Adnan or me. In my career I've had sixteen surgeries to fix injuries. Six surgeries on my right leg, four on my right, three on my ribs, two on my left arm, and one on my right hand. Sadik has had at least twenty surgeries during his career… Though I think a few of those were for scar tissue removal in his eyebrows. I've actually been needing another surgery done on my right hand again…" He straightened out his hand and placed it in front of me. I looked at it, noting the fact that there was a scar towards the right side of his hand.

"Boxer's fracture I got during my fifteenth fight. I had the guy on the ground and tried to punch him in the head, but he dodged the hit and I punched the mat instead… I forfeited the fight and it was ruled a TKO. The fracture didn't heal quite as well as doctors expected, and they want to go back in and fix it, twenty eight fights later."

"Just shows how useful doctors are…"

"Yeah, no kidding… I have to say though, for the amount of surgeries I've had done, I'm in pretty good shape. I've taken my rounds of rehabilitation and allowed my injuries to heal correctly for the most part. My hand is just the only thing that doesn't want to comply."

"There's always that one thing in life."

"Yeah…"

After our break, we returned to training, which lasted five hours total. I was exhausted, battered and bruised by constant training. It was still nothing compared to a Kirzigian routine, but it made my typical training look like toddler's work.

I sat in my apartment, chatting with Tino as I ate my dinner; I hadn't eaten at all during the training during the day, so my hunger was getting to me. Tino had eaten earlier, so he just sat at the table, listening and responding.

"Man, training with those guys is just insane… I mean, I would have expected at least Andelko to be a bit more relaxed training-wise, but damn, he pushed me to my absolute limit… That's going to be every day until the day I fight."

"Andelko Begovich is a pretty conditioned fighter. He's "The Southern Slavic Legend" for a reason… I mean, people in the WCFL have their nicknames for a reason. They all do. They've earned them."

"You know any interesting stories about the different fighter's nicknames?"

"Well, Sadik wasn't always "The Veteran". He actually started off as "The Turkish Tank". He wasn't "The Veteran" until around five years ago, when the last of the original-roster fighters retired. He was the last one left out of the guys who had fought with Lodovico."

"I figured it was something like that, that gave him his nickname. Say, you think I'll get a different nickname if I beat Alexianos? I mean, I can't always stay "The Rookie", right?"

"I think that'd be humorous if you were the champion of the WCFL and your nickname was still "The Rookie". It'd be a contradiction."

"Yeah, but I won't always be a rookie. I'm not even one anymore, I mean, just look at where I am. I've got a title shot, after only seven fights… I mean, who really gets this kind of a chance so early in their MMA career?"

"Not a lot of people. You know, Alexianos was 7-0 when he got his title shot at Sadik. I can't help but think of this fight being so similar to Alexianos and Sadik's fight around… Nine years ago, I think?"

"It is kind of similar, huh? Sadik wasn't undefeated when he was champion though, right?"

"No. He had I think one or two losses on his record before he became champion."

"And that's an important difference between the two fights. Alexianos doesn't have a flaw on that famous record of his."

"I'm sure you can win this fight though. You're by far one of the most impressive fighters I've seen in a while. And considering that you've beaten some of the top names in the WCFL, I'm fairly confident in you."

"I just have to protect my ribs… That's the only thing I'm worried about is my ribs. First Andelko cracks ribs on one side with a spin-around heel kick, then Alexianos cracks the other side with a punch during training. I don't know how much more they can take, I mean… I have metal plates on both sides, and… with how hard your husband hits, I'm just not sure if they'll last."

"Who's helping you with your defensive skills out of the three training you?"

"Andelko."

"That'll be great. He's as good an offensive fighter as he is a defensive one."

"Not to be mean or anything, but I really never expected you to know anything about the WCFL or MMA in general. You just don't seem like the kind of person, you know?"

"I can understand that." Tino chuckled slightly. "I only really started getting to know it when I met Alexianos. For the past two years, I've paid quite a bit attention to the different fighters, and learned a lot about the WCFL and Mixed Martial Arts.'

"You ever thought about fighting?"

"Me? Fighting? Nah. I grew up with a nonviolent family. I have to admit, I'm kind of a pacifist unless provoked."

"You ever been provoked?"

"Yes, sadly. It's the reason I don't visit my family anymore."

I gave Tino a curious look. "Care to tell me the story? Or is it too personal…?"

"I suppose I can tell you. You have helped me out a lot over the past year, so… Here goes nothing…" The Finnish man sighed before beginning to speak. I listened closely, wanting to hear about Tino's past.

"I was seventeen years old, and living with my parents… They deeply despised the fact that my only desire was to own a successful business, instead of studying my ass off to become something like a doctor. When I… When I told them that I wanted to move to the United States to start my business, my mother accepted it, but my father… He hated the idea with a passion, and he and I argued back and forth about it. When I told him to stop controlling my life, and let me do what I desired in life, he… he grabbed a knife off of the dinner table…"

The Finn stood, and lifted his shirt up to reveal his stomach. He pointed out, towards the center of his gut, an indentation about an inch long, with skin paler than Tino's typical skin tone. It was a scar.

"And he stabbed me…" He sat back down, fixing his shirt. "All because I didn't want him controlling my life…. My mother took me to the hospital, and I had emergency surgery to get the knife out safely, and to repair anything the knife had hit… I spent about a week in the hospital while the nurses monitored my recovery… I… I went home just to discover that my mother had filed for divorce from my father… A month after the stabbing incident, I turned eighteen, and my mother was kind enough to pay for a flight to the United States for me…"

"I left the United States with a heavy heart, you know? I hated to leave my family in Finland, but not because I liked them. My younger sister is still there… She's still in high school… I don't talk to her much, but she's still dear to me, you know? She lives with my mom."

"You never told me you had a sister." I commented.

"I don't actually talk about her much." Tino replied.

"Does she know that your dad stabbed you? I mean, where was she during all this?"

"She was visiting our aunt during the week that occurred… My dad stabbed me about three hours after she had left the house. I was back home from the hospital maybe an hour before she came back from our aunt's. We never told her about why dad really left."

"What was your sister's opinion on you leaving a few weeks later, and never coming back to Finland?"

"She was always so quiet… She never said anything about me leaving Finland. Just told me to be careful. I don't know if I've been very careful here in the United States… It's only been a couple years since I left, but it feels like it's been ages, you know? I feel like I've made more mistakes than I've done things right. I got married after only two months of knowing a man… My business… it's falling apart at the seams, not due to finances, but because of such poor management…"

"Poor management?"

"For the past year I've just… fallen apart, you know? I've had problems with alcoholism, problems with my marriage… I just don't know what I'm doing wrong to deserve these problems. I started drinking again just to try to forget ever being hurt by Alexianos… I just… I don't feel like myself anymore, and it's affecting my business."

"I wish there was something I could do for you, man…"

"I just ask that you beat Alexianos, Mathias. If he's humbled by his defeat, I… I think I may be able to return to a normal life."

I nodded my head slightly.

"I promise you, Tino, I'll do my very best to end Alexianos' reign."

Tino smiled a bit at me, and I couldn't help but grin. Seeing the broken man smile was something that showed a spark of the Tino I had first met when I had joined the WCFL nearly a year ago.

That small glimpse of the former Tino made me wonder; if I lost my fight, how would the world react? How would my parents react? How would Berwald, my fiancé, react? How would Tolvorn react? How would Tino react? Would it send people back into the same spiral they had been in, with the reigning champion winning all his fights with iron fists? Would Tino's alcoholism kick back into full swing, and destroy his marriage once and for all?

One thing taunted me in the back of my head, nearly forgotten with all of my other racing thoughts.

How would _I_ react?


	26. Køhler vs Kirzigian

Six weeks passed far too quickly.

My fight was the last one scheduled for the night; I was scared and nervous. I sat in a chair at ringside, trembling despite the warmth of the WCFL Center. I was to face Alexianos Kirzigian, the most brutal, undefeated fighter on the planet.

Tolvorn had noticed when I was hanging around in the locker room that I was unlike myself, so he sent me out to an open seat in the front row to calm my nerves and watch the four fights before the fifth, otherwise known as my fight.

There were four normal fights scheduled; Oxenstierna vs. Lorinatus, Johansson vs. Johansson, Galante vs. Vargas, and Antonov vs. Beilschmidt.

The event, called "WCFL 281- Worthy", started off like any other, with Brian O'Keeffe standing in the center of the cage with multiple cameras hanging over his head, projecting on four large video monitors around the arena. Nikodemos Antonov and Gilbert Beilschmidt stood in the cage already; both paced their corners, though Niko seemed much more menacing than Gilbert, who seemed to be smiling and laughing, talking with his coach as he paced.

The introductions were made and soon the fight began, the crowd watching intently as the two fighters brawled. Many good shots were made early on, and by the end of the first round, both men were breathing hard and bruised. No blood was shed until the middle of the second round, when Beilschmidt opened up a cut on Antonov's jaw with a wicked uppercut.

Beilschmidt went on a roll from there on out, and won towards the beginning of the third round by doctor stoppage. Antonov's jaw had proved to be a problem, and had been broken by a solid knee from Beilschmidt.

The next fight, was one I watched intently. It was Raivis versus Lovino. They were introduced like every other, and soon they were fighting. Raivis opened up the striking with what seemed to be his signature head kick, but the strike was blocked. Back and forth, the strikes went; the fight never went to the ground, or even to the clinch.

The two, both durable fighters with keen striking skills, went for almost an entire round, before Raivis won by way of knockout. He had caught Lovino just right with a counter left hook, ending the quick brawl.

The third fight was one that had been scheduled in an event years ago, but had been ruled a no-contest. The Johansson brothers were fighting, and this time, things were serious. The introductions were made, and the first round was begun. It seemed shaky at first, but within a minute, strikes were being thrown, and it was taken to the ground by the elder brother.

Joachim was quick to escape his brother's ground game, but was caught off guard by Alexander pulling a submission that no one expected or had seen completed before, except for me. The elder Johansson brother grabbed a hold of his younger sibling's arm and used the cage as leverage to hoist himself up onto the other's shoulder. He then brought Joachim down into an arm bar, submitting him within seconds.

Alexander released his younger brother, then helped him up, immediately pulling him into a tight hug, placing a kiss on the top of his head. It was a show of care from older to younger brother.

I clapped and smiled slightly at the display, noting the fact that a cameraman had approached me and was filming my actions. I glanced to the camera and smirked, nodding my head. He was filming for television, which was common. As quick as the cameraman came, he left, off to film whatever else.

The next fight came with thunderous cheering from the crowd. I would get to watch the entire fight, despite the fact I desperately wanted to see how Berwald and Toris Lorinatus concluded their bout.

The beginning was immediately bursting with action, and within the first round, both fighters were cut open and bleeding. When the second round came around, I was watching closely as Berwald took Toris down, but I didn't get to see the outcome.

Tolvorn approached me and tapped my shoulder. I looked to him, and immediately, my former nervousness returned.

"Come on, Mathias. Time to get you dressed and ready for this." He said. I stood, nodding my head. People watched as I passed by them, on my way to the locker room.

Before I entered, I heard a voice that sounded familiar. I looked around at the seats, going wide-eyed when I realized who had spoken to me.

"Dad!" I exclaimed, hopping over the barricades separating the stands from the walkway and hugging my father tightly. Beside him was my mother, who I hugged just as tightly when I had released my dad.

"Mom; God it's great to see you. Both of you." I said, grinning.

"Mathias, I just want to say before your fight, that I know you left Denmark because you felt ignored by us because we worked so much, but we want you to know that we're proud of you. No matter if you become the champion or not, you'll always be our son." My dad explained. Just those simple words brought tears to my eyes; I needed to hear that. My hopes for winning had just been risen by this boost of morale.

"We'll be rooting for you, Mathias." My mother stated, reaching up and messing up my hair with her hand. I chuckled and hugged my parents once again.

"I have to get ready to fight now, so I'll see you afterwards." With that, I hopped back over the barricades and headed to my locker room.

I took a quick pre-fight shower, then got dressed in the proper gear for the fight; protective cup, underwear, Danish-flag board shorts, hand wrappings, and red MMA gloves. I hooked my mouth guard on the waistband of my shorts, then sat on the bench in the locker room. Tolvorn approached me and crouched down, looking me in the eyes.

"Mathias, I am so proud of you for making it this far. Seven fights, seven wins, and a title shot. You have overcome many challenges, and have impressed the world. No matter the outcome of this fight, your name will live on in Mixed Martial Arts. Your style is unique, and you, as a person, are extremely unique. Humble, strong, and determined. You've worked your way to the top with the strength of a thousand bulls, and the mentality of the most ambitious of prophets. Who beat Matthew Williams by knockout in his debut?"

"I did."

"Who knocked out the cockiest fighter in the league, Nikodemos Antonov, in a fight that proved that he belonged?"

"I did."

"Who took on the chairman's durable and unorthodox son, Lovino Vargas, by using his mind more than his strength?"

"I did."

"Who knocked out Ivan Braginski and wiped that creepy grin off his face?"

"I did."

"Who proved to the world that he was in the right place by using a difficult submission to choke out the legendary Andelko Begovich?"

"I did."

"Who forced the tap out and further the retirement of Novak Novkovic?"

"I did."

"Who defeated the tallest fighter in the WCFL, Berwald Oxenstierna, with an axe kick?"

"I did."

"You're ready for this, Mathias. You've been forged in the crucible of training with the best of the best. You can win this. What's the game plan?"

"Keep Kirzigian guessing. Avoid his left hand. When possible, take the fight to the ground. Stay focused, and don't get careless."

"Good."

There were a few moments of silence, before Tolvorn hugged me tightly. I hugged him back, the older former-fighter chuckling a bit.

"Relax, Mathias… You're more tense than my back after a bad night's sleep."

I released him and attempted to relax myself, but little success was achieved. He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked in my eyes once again.

"Relax… Don't be so nervous…"

"I can't relax, coach… This is a do-or-die fight… If I lose, I retire."

"Mathias, do you remember what you know about Dagur Jonson?"

"Yeah."

"He was exactly like you, but he would never think negatively. You have to be better than Dagur, Mathias."

"… How?"

"Think positive. Win this fight."

"… but what if I can't win?"

"You can win this, Mathias. Don't say that you can't win. Never say that you can't, because you always can."

I looked down and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and letting Tolvorn's words sink in.

"I can do this." I stated after a few moments. I raised my head and opened my eyes, nodding to Tolvorn.

"Good to hear, kid." He said, smiling. After a little while, he and I both stood as a staff member walked into the locker room.

"Køhler, you're up. Good luck." The man said before exiting. I took a deep breath and released it slowly, before taking slow steps out of the locker room. As I walked, I took my mouth guard off of the waistband of my shorts and slipped it into place in my mouth.

The bright lights of the arena beamed down upon me, blinding my eyes with all too familiar rays. Flashes from cameras came from every angle, television cameras followed my every movement. People screamed and cheered, chanting over and over the nickname I had acquired.

_Rookie._

I stepped slowly up the stairs into the octagonal cage, stopping in the doorway and turning around to face the crowd. My eyes scanned over the people, before I raised a single fist in the air. I then turned around and slowly went to my corner. Alexianos was already waiting in his corner, and as I turned to face him, our eyes locked.

Brian O'Keeffe stepped into the center of the octagon, with the referee Liam Kirkland close by. Media in the cage took numerous pictures and filmed what was to be the most historic fight of the modern day WCFL.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, our final bout of the day. This is the main event and championship match…" Brian began. "The rules of this fight have been changed from the standard. This fight holds ten two minute rounds, and is a "do-or-die" match. This means that whichever fighter loses, will be forced to retire for a minimum of five years."

Some of the crowd gasped, some cheered, and some booed when the match's circumstances were explained. Alexianos and I took no heed to the cacophony around us.

"Both fighters have agreed to the terms of their contracts, and are aware of the do-or-die circumstances… Now, introducing first, fighting out of the red corner. This man is the challenger…"

I stood still in my corner even as cameras focused in on me, my eyes still locked in an intense stare-down with my opponent.

"With a record of 7-0, this man is a Generalist, fighting out of Copenhagen, Denmark. Standing at six feet tall, weighing in at one-hundred ninety pounds… He is "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

The crowd cheered incredibly loud, but I didn't flinch or even move. Alexianos and I were still glaring into each other's eyes out of something worse than just opposition. I almost felt as if the stare between us was something close to _hate._

The crowd died down and gave Brian a chance to introduce Kirzigian.

"Introducing second, fighting out of the blue corner, with a record of 41-0, this man is a boxer and a wrestler, fighting out of Vagharshapat, Armenia… Standing at five-foot six-inches tall, weighing one-hundred sixty-seven pounds, he is the reigning, defending World-Class Fighting League champion… Alexianos "One Man Army" Kirzigian!"

The crowd cheered once again, thunderously loud. The arena seemed to rumble from the booming sound, which I knew was able to be heard outside of the WCFL Center.

Alexianos and I slowly stepped to the center of the mat, for the traditional championship stare-down. We got mere centimeters from each other, Alexianos' eyes around nose-level with me. I glared down at the shorter man with a scowl, and he looked up at me with a similar expression.

Liam Kirkland spoke into a microphone, which was held by Brian O'Keeffe.

"Alright gentlemen, this is for the championship. Ten two-minute rounds; all standard striking and grappling rules apply. Touch gloves if you'd like, then return to your corners."

Alexianos and I merely stepped backwards, heading to our corners without our gazes ever disconnecting. The media was soon out of the cage along with Brian O'Keeffe, leaving just Liam Kirkland, Kirzigian, and I on the mat.

I got into a fight stance, shaking out my arms slightly in anticipation. Despite my determined expression, inside I was tormented by nervousness and I _feared_ this fight. My heart was racing, and I knew that Tolvorn knew my uneasiness.

"Relax, Mathias! Don't stress yourself out!" He called out from behind me outside of the cage. I took a deep breath and let it out, attempting to follow my coach's instructions.

Liam Kirkland stood in the center of the mat and looked to both Alexianos and I.

"Fighters ready?"

Alexianos and I nodded.

"Let's get it on!" The referee shouted, swinging his arms down and thus beginning the first two-minute round.

The Armenian champion and I came out cautiously, circling with hands ready to guard and strike. He was in his signature hunched boxing stance, with me in a stance I had perfected during training with Sadik, Andelko, and Alexander. My weight was more level on both legs, in a short stance that allowed quick movement, but lacked stability.

I threw a few quick punches, followed by a hard leg kick, but the shorter man guarded the punches, and lifted his leg slightly to absorb the kick. Without backing up, I spun and tried for a left spinning backfist, but the champ countered my movements with a hard right punch to my side.

I cringed and moved away, circling once again. Alexianos unleashed a flurry of quick punches, which I, for the most part, guarded. Before he had a chance to return to his original stance, I dove at the man, ramming a shoulder into his stomach. Resisting, he wound up against the cage, with my head under his right arm. He held the arm around my neck tightly, and with that left hand, he repeatedly punched the right side of my body.

"Get out of there Mathias!" I heard Tolvorn shout.

Grabbing Kirzigian's arm, I forced the hold loose enough to escape. I backpedaled just enough to escape a nasty left hook from the Armenian man. He pursued me, lunging with an overhand right. I caught his fist and used his momentum, pulling his body straight into my lifted left knee.

We separated from there, going back to circling each other. Taking a chance, I got close to him, then lifted my leg above the champion's head, going for an axe kick. Alexianos dodged my leg, then surged forward with punches to my body, successfully knocking me down while I was off balance.

He pursued me on the ground, diving onto me in half-guard and rattling my head with hard, quick punches. I attempted to pull my right leg out from under him, but he merely reversed my tactic, using it to get to full mount. I panicked and struggled under him, only to receive heavy blows to my head.

"Relax, Mat! Don't panic!" A new voice joined in from my corner; I recognized it to be Berwald. Glancing for a split second, I confirmed my thoughts, realizing that Berwald had joined Tolvorn and Eduard over at the red side of the cage.

I looked back to Alexianos, managing to pull the Armenian down to my chest, protecting my stinging face. I had already been cut open on my right cheekbone. The blood was flowing, and I hoped it didn't get too bad.

We struggled on the ground for around thirty seconds, before the bell to end the round sounded and Kirzigian got off of me.

I stood and went to my corner, sitting on the stool provided to me and sighing. Tolvorn, Eduard, and Berwald came around me while a medical staff member worked to seal the cut on my cheekbone.

"What the hell happened on the ground there, Mathias? Didn't Alexander teach you how to transition correctly?" Tolvorn questioned.

"I panicked." I replied.

"Don't panic. You know better."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. That round went to Kirzigian for the most part, but you can come back. Nine more rounds. Just keep calm and don't panic. Do not go to the ground like that again; I want you to keep this standing."

"But what about Kirzigian's boxing? It's better than mine."

"You're better with other skills. Fight from the outside with range. You have the reach advantage, and you have kicks. Go back to your natural stance, and get comfortable. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good. Now get in there and fight your fight."

I stood up from the stool and shook out my limbs, letting out a slow breath as Tolvorn, Eduard, and Berwald exited the cage, along with the medical staff, Alexianos' coach, and the media.

When the second round began, the pace picked up with me going to my casual stance and focusing on fighting from the outside. I launched a lot of kicks at him, and tried to remain calm, but Kirzigian kept putting pressure on me, forcing me to backpedal more than once into the cage.

Before I knew it, we had reached the fifth round.

I was now exhausted and cut open numerous times on my face. I had a cut on my forehead, both eyebrows, my cheek, and my lip. Kirzigian, though in shape, was beaten up as well. I had successfully opened up cuts on primarily the right side of his face; one on his eyebrow, one under his eye, and one on his cheekbone.

Both our sides were reddened and swollen, making it hard to catch out breath. Four rounds had totaled up to eight minutes of grueling, painful fighting. I hadn't felt the worst of pains yet though, because Kirzigian had yet to hit me full force with his left hand. I was lucky to have dodged his haymakers.

The bell was rung to begin the round, and my opponent and I circled once again. I faked a left punch, then went for a right head kick, only for the leg to be caught and held against his body. I knew this position all too well; Alexianos had injured me this way.

But I knew how to counter.

I jumped on my left leg and while in the air, I kicked the Armenian in the head. The man let go, but since I was unable to twist fully over, I landed hard on the mat. Sharp pain went through my shoulder, causing me to struggle to get up. Kirzigian, thankfully dazed by the shot, didn't come at me until I was on my feet. I managed to guard his punches and keep from being knocked out, but the pain in my shoulder was increasing with every movement I made.

I pretty much avoided getting close to Alexianos for the rest of the round, shoving him away and using primarily my left punches and both legs for kicks.

When the round ended, I made my way to my corner, sitting on the stool provided and cringing in pain.

"What happened?" Tolvorn asked as he crouched in front of me.

"Landed wrong. I couldn't twist in the air when he had a hold of me…"

"How bad does it hurt?"

"Pretty bad… I don't know if I can use my right arm…"

"Can you still fight?"

"Of course. I just can't use my right arm."

"You still have five more rounds left to fight… Are you sure you'll last?"

"I'm sure."

And like I said, I lasted. We reached the final round, me scarcely using my right arm for more than just blocking.

Kirzigian and I practically collapsed into our chairs after the ninth round, doctors rushing to stop the seemingly endless bleeding from our battered faces. My nose had been broken in the seventh round, and the cuts I had received early on in the fight were widened and deeper. There was no stoppage yet though; there was no dangerous ingestion of blood in the mouth, and there was no bone showing. Yet. If I took too many more hits, surely the doctors were going to step in and stop the fight.

Tolvorn crouched in front of me, beginning to talk.

"Mathias, you've done great. These last few rounds have been yours on the scorecards, I'm sure. You have to win this, rookie. Knock him out this round. Do not let the judges decide who retires here. This is your fight. Your match. Your title. You can do this. I believe in you. Avenge forty-one losses for the fighters of the WCFL, and avenge Dagur Jonson here and now. You will be the champion, Mathias Køhler. You are the better fighter, the better man, the better person. Get in there, and end this."

I nodded my head and stood, morale returned to me with Tolvorn's touching words.

Running through my head as I stood there, shaking out my limbs, breathing slowly, were the images of the defeated fighters Alexianos had knocked out in his previous fights. Their blood had stained this mat; one person had died because of the champion.

I was going to avenge him. Dagur Jonson would be avenged.

Sadik Adnan would be able to retire in peace, knowing that the title that had originally belonged to him was in safe hands.

Berwald Oxenstierna would be able to retire, knowing that his four losses to the Armenian man would be avenged.

The endless undefeated record of Alexianos "One Man Army" Kirzigian would be stopped. His reign of terror over the World Class Fighting league would come to a halt.

I would end this feud once and for all.

When the bell rang, it seemed to echo in my ears for a prolonged amount of time. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as the champion and I, bruised and battered, approached each other, breathing heavy and movement sluggish.

Kirzigian started the striking of the tenth round with a right jab, which I moved my head to the side to avoid. I countered with a strike to the body with my left hand, but the meager shot was merely absorbed.

Before I knew what was coming, Alexianos brought that deadly left hand around in a looping, ducking hook, nailing me right in the temple. My vision went incredibly fuzzy, and I stumbled backwards, spinning and facing the cage from the momentum of the strike.

I turned around on weak legs just in time to barely duck away from another left hand from the older man.

I stumbled away from the champion, ducking and dodging his hits purely by miracles. When my vision became clear, I noticed and realized that Alexianos' guard was low.

I knew this was my chance.

I reared back my left hand as Alexianos surged at me, and launched everything I had in one last punch. I was too exhausted to do anything more than this.

My fist crashed into the side of the champion's head, causing him to fall on top of me in my guard.

He was dead weight on me, and I had no strength left to remove him. Liam Kirkland stepped in, and pulled Alexianos off of me. I lay there on the ground for a moment, before sitting up and looking at the scene before me.

The entire crowd was silent, and I realized why.

Alexianos lay on his back, unconscious, everyone standing in awe.

I got to my feet and leaned against the cage, eyes wide in shock.

_I had just won._

Medical staff hurried in and were quickly assessing Kirzigian, and almost immediately they had a stretcher brought into the cage, and were loading the Armenian man on to it. Alexianos was carried off silently.

Brian O'Keeffe stepped in to the cage and began to announce the end of the fight, as I stumbled to the center of the ring, where Liam Kirkland awaited, along with Lodovico, who held the title belt in his hands.

Liam Kirkland took a hold of my wrist, while Brian spoke into a microphone, hesitating, unsure of what to say at first.

"And now… announcing the winner at one minute, one second into the tenth round… He is the new champion of the World Class Fighting League… the undefeated Danish fighter, "The Rookie" Mathias Køhler!"

My arm was raised, the crowd exploded into cheers, and I couldn't help but grin and let the tears flow as Lodovico placed the title belt around my waist.

I was the new WCFL champion.


	27. Modesty

Holding a white cloth to my face, a camera man and Lodovico approached, Lodovico holding a microphone in his hand.

"Mathias Køhler. Champion. What are you feeling right now?" He asked, holding the microphone close to my mouth. Still trying to catch my breath, I spoke.

"I just… I can't believe it, you know? I can't believe that I… was the one to beat Kirzigian. I'm not half the fighter he is. He's amazing… incredibly strong, incredibly brutal. I want to thank Alexianos Kirzigian for the opportunity he gave me, thank my fans for being there to support me and motivate me, thank my coach and training partners for working with me so much to become the best fighter I can be… Thank the WCFL and it's staff, thank everyone… I just… Damn, I can't even think straight." I said, chuckling slightly and dabbing my face with the cloth to remove sweat and blood.

"And everyone thanks you, Mathias, for giving us such a great show in every one of your fights. Now you can take it easy, and leave this arena with the belt around your waist." Lodovico said, patting my shoulder lightly. I grinned and raised a fist in the air before exiting the cage, heading to the locker room.

Tolvorn followed me in and hugged me tightly.

"You did it." He said. I smiled and hugged him back, chuckling.

"Yeah… I did it, coach… Can I take a shower then head to Doc Bart's to get stitched up?"

"Of course. Just meet me outside the locker room when you're done and I'll come with you to Doctor Bartholomues'." With that, Tolvorn exited. I sighed and stripped down for a shower, entering the stall with blood still dripping from the gashes in my face. I turned on the water, feeling relieved when the cold liquid ran over my heated, tired body. The fight had taken everything out of me, including a large amount of my blood, which was currently going down the drain with the water.

After I had washed off in the shower, I got dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, not caring much for how I looked when I was as exhausted as I was.

I met Tolvorn outside of the locker room, title belt slung over my shoulder. I got to take this home and keep it until my next fight was signed. Then it would be given back to Lodovico, and hopefully, after the fight, back to me.

My coach and I headed to the infirmary in the WCFL Center and were greeted by Doctor Bartholomues, who had a smirk on his face when he saw the title belt on my shoulder.

"It's been a long time since anyone's walked in here with a title belt that isn't Kirzigian. Great job, Mathias." The doctor commented. I smiled at him and chuckled.

"Thanks, doc. Think you can fix up my face before I head to the post-fight conference?"

"With pleasure, rookie. Or should I say, champ?"

After a little while of getting my face stitched up and bandaged sufficiently, I was able to leave, title belt still slung over my shoulder. It felt so right; the engraved, shining golden plate on the black leather belt, held on my shoulder with pride. I had won it fairly. I supposed it belonged to me.

I headed to the post fight conference with Tolvorn, sitting at a long table, glancing to my left and noting the fact that Alexianos sat there somberly at the other side of the table, eyes distant and unfocused. Tino resided in a seat next to him, gently holding his left hand.

The crowd of media in front of the table filmed and recorded and wrote and asked questions just as every post-fight conference went. I spoke quietly, and didn't boast about my victory too much. I didn't want to make Kirzigian feel worse than he already was.

"Kirzigian, do you have anything to say before you retire?" A journalist asked. Alexianos sighed and blinked slowly, before starting to talk.

"Eleven years as a fighter… Ten years as champion… I can't believe it ended this way. I worked my way to the top, proved I belonged there, then forced myself to do more… My career, though granting me fortune and fame, has left me robbed of a stable personal life… I, throughout these past few years of being the "One Man Army", have turned into someone I never thought I'd become… I've taken my fists outside of the cage and used them against the very man I love… I've let everything go to my head, and have become arrogant and… I just don't know how this all came to be this way."

"I've done things that I regret… I've killed a man. Dagur Jonson… I will never forget that day. I will never forget that final punch that led to the death of a great fighter. He was meant to be great. He was meant to live for so much more than I let him. He was meant to have the belt that Mathias Køhler now holds. I suppose these things happen though; we sign our contracts knowing the risks we have in the cage… I only wish that I hadn't been the one to kill Dagur. He deserved to live so much longer… It's only right though, that someone who resembles Dagur in so many ways takes the title from me with my own trademark hit. Mathias Køhler is an amazing fighter, an amazing man, and he deserves what he has on his shoulder."

"Though I am retiring after these eleven years, I know the next generation of fighters has a lot ahead of them. There is no doubt that now that I am gone, a few men will retire as well; but that opens up more slots for the next great generation. I hope each and every ambitious mixed martial artist out there finds their way to the World-Class Fighting League, and leaves their own legacy, much like mine, much like Mathias'. Everything comes to an end; some things more sudden than others. Habits… careers… lives… When I walk out of this building for the last time, and go back home holding the hand of my husband, I know that better days are ahead… From here on out, I am no longer the "One Man Army". I am simply Alexianos Kirzigian."

I found myself moved to tears by Alex's words. There was so much meaning to them; he had finally, finally snapped out of his delirium of fame. Things were going to get better for him.

I smiled and wiped tears off of my cheeks with the back of one of my rough hands, smiling at Alexianos when he glanced over at me. He smiled back and stood, walking over to me. I stood up and sighed.

"Thanks, Mathias. For everything… I'm sorry for the things I've put everyone through… You deserve the title." He said, offering his hand to shake.

"It's not a problem, man… Take it easy in retirement, alright?" I replied, firmly grasping his hand. He chuckled a nodded.

"Of course."

We looked into each other's eyes for a small moment, before he hesitantly pulled me into a hug. I patted the man's back, returning the hug. It was a moment that proved the fact that Kirzigian had changed due to his first and only loss.

We separated, and soon the conference was finished. I walked outside into the busy parking lot of the WCFL center, about to open the door to my car when I heard a voice behind me.

"Mathias." It was one of the more recognizable voices I'd known. Berwald's. I turned around to see the tall Swede approach me.

"Hey Berwald." I greeted, smiling. He gently hugged me, kissing the side of my face.

"Y' did great… I'm proud of y'." He said.

"What do you say you come with me to my place, Berwald? We haven't spent much time together for the past few weeks."

"Actually, Mathias, I wanted t' ask y' something…"

"What's that?"

"… Would y' consider moving in with m'?"

I chuckled. "You think you could stand living with someone like me?"

"I'm your fiancé for a reason. S' what d' y' say? Would y' move in with m'?"

I nodded and grinned. "Of course… but can I spend tonight in my apartment? I just want one more night there, as champion this time."

"Yeah. D' y' still want m' t' come over?"

"Yeah. Come on. I'm guessing you walked here."

"Y' guessed right."

My fiancé and I were soon at my apartment, lying in bed. I lay above the covers, hands folded over my stomach, eyes staring up at the blank white ceiling. I wore only a pair of boxers, which revealed my sore, bruised, battered body. My sides were swollen red, my face was stitched up, my whole body ached, and this wasn't the worst of the pain I was going to feel. In the morning, I knew I would hardly be able to move.

When my cell phone rang from the nightstand beside the bed, Berwald was quick to get up and answer it for me.

"Hello?… This is Berwald… Mathias is lying in bed right now… I'm sure he'd b' fine talking t' his own mother… Alright, here h' is." Berwald meandered over and handed me the cell phone, which I held to my ear.

"Hey mom." I greeted.

"_Hey Mathias… God, that was hard to watch, but you pulled through… I'm so incredibly proud of you… Your father and I both are. You… I know you left Denmark because you felt ignored by your dad and I, because we worked so much and never bothered to talk to you or say much… But we've always cared; you know that, right?"_

"Of course I do… I just… I needed to get away from that feeling of ignorance and find what I was meant to do."

"_I'm glad you've found yourself in Mixed Martial Arts… It may be dangerous, but you're happy. You've got a great career, a fiancé who I have a feeling will be a great son-in-law… Things just keep getting better."_

"Yeah… So how long are you going to be here in the states? I know it's hard for you and dad to get days off work. I want to see you guys again before you leave."

"_We have a flight scheduled for tomorrow at nine in the morning. You could meet us at the airport, if you'd like."_

"Sounds great… I love you, mom."

"_Love you too, Mathias. Would you like to talk to your father?"_

"Sure."

After a few moments, the phone was switched over to my dad.

"_Mathias?"_

"Hey dad."

"_My boy… You… You've become a great man. You proved to me that you had a calling that you hadn't found before… I knew you weren't going to end up like your mother and I. You're a risk-taker. You're a fighter personality-wise, but who would have guessed you would have turned out to be such a successful fighter physical-wise?"_

"Not me, that's for sure. I jumped on the chance to fight because I wanted to get out of Denmark, you know? I felt kind of ignored by you and mom."

"_I can understand why. We've been so busy for these past few years. It's only natural that you would feel the need to get away from us. I realize now that we neglected to really care for you… You know we do love you though, Mathias. You're our only son."_

"I know. I love you and mom too. I always will."

My father sighed. _"If you ever get the time, visit us in Denmark sometime, son. I'll see you at the airport tomorrow morning, right?"_

"Yeah. Of course."

"_Alright. I'll let you rest now. You're probably exhausted, huh?"_

"Yeah. I'll see you in the morning, dad."

"_See you in the morning, Mathias."_

I hung up the phone and handed it to Berwald, who placed it back on the nightstand before laying down next to me once again. The blonde haired man sighed and rolled onto his side, gently placing his hand on mine.

"I think now that Alexianos is gone… I'm going t' retire from fighting. What do y' think?" He asked. I smiled a bit.

"You've had a great career, and I think you should make your next fight your last… It's only right, you know?"

"Yeah… Then I can settle down a bit and just relax… Maybe I'll b' able t' sleep for once, knowing I don't have t' get up and train."

I nodded slightly. "Who do you think your last fight is going to be against?"

"I don't really know… Lodovico, like always, will want t' make it a big event… I'm going t' guess Alexander, Sadik, or Andelko… Maybe Jones. Not sure."

"It'd be cool if you fought Sadik… Maybe you both would retire after the fight."

"Yeah… I think that'd b' a great fight for Lodovico t' schedule…"

"Mhm…. Ugh… So tired. Can we go to sleep, Berwald?"

"Of course." The Swede muttered, reaching over and turning off the lamp on the bedside table next to his side of the bed. I sighed and curled up close to the other man; he wrapped those giant arms around me gently, chuckling slightly.

"Goodnight, Rookie."

"Goodnight, Beast."

With those few joking words, he and I drifted off to sleep. The morning after was just as I expected; I could hardly move. Berwald literally had to help me even stand up and assist me in walking to the bathroom. He was courteous enough to stay outside of the bathroom while I took a shower, but when I exited with nothing but a towel around my waist he became rather flustered, which was something I found practically cute.

"Don't worry, Berwald. I can get dressed on my own. I think." I teased. The Swede merely uttered a few jumbled words that were probably supposed to make sense, but didn't in his state of embarrassment.

I spent pretty much the next few days at my apartment, Berwald and I deciding to put off my moving in with him for a while until I was able to move boxes of belongings without any worry of dropping them due to soreness. Getting to that state of physical condition took about a week, and even then, I still had bruises, some cuts were still healing, and I was still slightly sore.

About two weeks after my fight, there was a convention at the WCFL Center, which I was to attend, along with Berwald, Andelko, Alexander, Sadik, and a few other fighters. Being the new champion, I was going to be attracting quite a bit of attention.

As Berwald and I walked into the center and headed to our designated table, people pointed me out and asked for photos, sometimes disregarding the fact that the best wrestler in the WCFL resided beside me at almost all times.

I sat down and sighed, picking up a black sharpie marker and starting to sign autographs. After about an hour of nothing but autographs and pictures, Berwald and I were approached by Lodovico.

"Hey you two, can you talk for a few minutes?" He questioned.

"Sure." I replied. "What do you need?"

"Well, at the next WCFL event, it's gong to be just as good as our last one." The Italian man looked to Berwald. "Berwald, I've signed you to fight Sadik in a two-way retirement fight, just like you requested."

Lodovico then looked to me. "As for you, Mathias, I've signed you to fight a championship match with Andelko. Hope you two can be ready. The event is in eight weeks."

"That's fine. It's more time than w' usually get t' train for a fight." Berwald commented.

"That's because I really hate to force Mathias to fight so soon after fighting a guy-"

"Like me?" A new voice popped into the conversation, and to the shock of Berwald, Lodovico, and I, there stood Alexianos Kirzigian, smile on his face. He wore a pair of black jeans, a nice white long-sleeved shirt, and a gray vest. It was a change from the Kirzigian I was used to seeing.

"A-Alex?" I stammered, stunned and happy at the same time. I stood and went around the table, hugging the shorter man.

"Hey Mathias. How're you doing?" Alexianos asked, chuckling slightly.

"I'm doing great. How have you been doing since retirement?" I responded.

"Amazing… Tino and I aren't arguing, he's quit drinking, and I'm heading back to Armenia here soon to stay there for a month and remember the country I was born and raised in."

"That's awesome, Alex. I'm glad to hear things are picking up for you, man." I patted his shoulder out of friendliness, though I felt something unnatural underneath his shirt. "What's this?"

"I had shoulder surgery. You know that dislocation I suffered when I fought Sadik a while back? Yeah, I finally let the doctors take a look. Turns out, I've had a bad tear in there for the longest time, and the reason it was so easy to dislocate was because that ligament that was there wasn't healed properly. That hadn't been the first time I had a shoulder injury."

"I could tell. No one just pops their arm back into socket like it's nothing if it's the first time they've had that type of injury."

"Yeah. Say, speaking of shoulders, how's yours doing? I know you hurt it."

"It's alright. Doesn't hurt anymore. Thinking I just jammed it into socket too hard or something when I landed on it. Bones grinded or something."

"You should still get it checked out before you end up having to get a surgery done like me."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll do it later." I said, chuckling.

"Say, Mathias, why don't you stop by the café later today? I know Tino wants to see you."

"That'd be cool. Say, Lodovico, what time is this convention over?" I turned to the Italian chairman standing nearby.

"Ten at night. You can leave whenever you'd like though." Lodovico said.

I thought for a moment. "Anyone have a piece of paper and some tape?"

"Not at the moment, but I'm sure we can ask one of the maintenance guys around here. Hang on a minute, I'll look around." With that, Lodovico wandered off in search of someone with a piece of paper and tape.

"What're y' planning on doing?" Berwald asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

"I'm going to write a note and put it on the table saying that I'll be back in an hour or two, that way people know that I'll be here again later." I explained. My fiancé nodded and glanced around. A few moments later, Lodovico returned with a roll of electrical tape and a sheet of yellow paper.

"It's all the guy had. Will it do?" He asked.

"Yep." I responded, taking the materials and writing down a quick note on the piece of paper-

'_Be back soon. -Mathias Køhler'_

I taped the paper to the desk, letters facing the crowds of people that would inevitably be passing by in my absence.

"Let's go, Alexianos." I said. The Armenian man nodded and led me out of the WCFL Center, which was odd considering the fact that we had been bitter with each other two weeks prior.

When he and I got to the café, it was bustling with activity; Tino and three other workers were serving drinks and food with smiles on their faces. When Tino noticed Alexianos and I enter, he grinned at us and said something to one of his employees, before meandering over to where his husband and I were standing.

"Mathias, it's been a while!" He said, beaming and hugging me tightly. I laughed and hugged the Finn back, noting how energized he seemed.

"No kidding, Tino. Busy day here, huh?" I replied.

"Yeah; it's great though. I'm really happy about it. Lots of work to do, but it's the best thing. I'm doing so much better than I was before you beat this stubborn lug." Tino jokingly punched Alexianos' arm, and Alexianos laughed.

"Alex told me you stopped drinking. Proud of you, man. I knew you could do it." I said, grinning.

"Thanks, Mathias. It's great to see you, but I have to get back to work. Have a seat somewhere if you'd like; I'll get one of my employees to take care of you. I've got to get to the kitchen and get these orders made, so I will talk to you in a little while." With that, the hard-working Finn hurried off to the kitchen. Alexianos and I meandered over to a tall circular table, sitting at the two stools on either side.

"So that's the Tino you married, huh?" I stated, smiling at Alexianos. He chuckled and nodded.

"That's the Tino I fell in love with. Energetic, happy… Now that he's not worrying about me so much, he's returning to how he was before we got married… before I got carried away with fame. You know, I'm actually glad that you won. I'm glad I was forced to retire. It's… so much easier now. Things have become very relaxing. I haven't felt this relaxed and not pressured in such a long time…"

"I'm glad you ant Tino are doing better. In the end, a saved relationship is better than the championship title. At least, that's what I think. There's a bunch of teenage boys I saw at the convention earlier today who were just going on and on about how they'll get the belt someday, and they'll have all the fame and money and women they want. The thing they don't know is that you have to work hard to get anywhere, and it's extremely risky. They think they can take a punch; wait 'till they feel a hit from someone who's a dominant striker."

"Like you?"

"Exactly."

"… You ever wonder where fighters like us would be if we didn't have the WCFL?"

"I'd still be at a dead-end job in Copenhagen."

"And I would have never met Tino, or gotten anywhere with my life… Mixed Martial Arts saved me from having to mooch off my parents forever. I'm lucky though. A lot of guys aren't half as successful as people like us. While we make millions of dollars and are stuck in the spotlight, guys like Toris Lorinatus, Hector Fernandez, and Lovino Vargas are left making still a lot of money, but aren't getting anywhere near the attention people like us are."

"Sometimes I think they're lucky. Fame is tough; I've been boosted into a whole different realm of fame with my win over you. It's almost suffocating, you know? So many people want to know who you are, when their information is limited."

"That's why I'm writing a book. I may have lost to you, but my 43 wins still stand as an incredible record… I honestly don't think anyone will be able to break my winning streak."

"I honestly don't think I'm going to be holding this title of champion for too long. There is so much competition that I haven't faced yet, and in all reality, my win over you was luck. That was a desperation shot I made when I knocked you out."

"I figured that out when I watched the ending of the fight online… You're really a damn great fighter though. I have to admit, going into the fight, I actually was afraid of losing. You were the first person to beat Berwald that wasn't me, and having fought Berwald numerous times… I know he's incredibly skilled. Can I ask, Mathias, who did you train with for your fight against me?"

"Sadik, Andelko, and Alexander."

"Really? I would have expected Sadik and Andelko to help you out, but Alexander? He's a stubborn sort. Doesn't seem to be the kind of guy to help others."

"He's really not that bad. Good guy. Really intelligent."

"He seems intelligent. How old is he; twenty-four, twenty-five?"

"He's actually thirty. Hard to believe, huh?"

"Wow. That's shocking. Age has been good to him."

"No kidding."

"I wish age would be like that for me, but sadly, I'm looking older and older every day." Alexianos laughed.

The day passed far too quickly, and as I walked into Berwald's home around midnight after being out with Tino and Alexianos, I sighed heavily. The tall Swede was passed out on the couch, TV remote still in his hand, resting on his stomach. The TV played some old Swedish movie, which I smiled slightly at. Even when living in the United States, Berwald managed to stay connected to his homeland by reminiscing in things from Sweden.

I walked over to the man and carefully removed the remote from his hand, and set it aside, before gently plucking his glasses from his face, setting them aside as well. I took a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over the giant.

Smiling slightly, I leaned down and placed a soft kiss to Berwald's scarred forehead, before shutting off the TV and the lights, and retreating to the bedroom.

I stripped down to my boxers and crawled into bed, burying myself under the covers. I lay awake for a little while before finally drifting off into sleep. When I awoke in the morning, I noticed the fact that Berwald was now laying next to me. He was asleep, as expected, but his peaceful, relaxed features were affable to see.

I smiled and placed my arm over his abdomen, curling up to his side and closing my eyes once again.

The day ahead of me could wait. I simply wanted to be here with him, laying so close to him. I was proud to call Berwald Oxenstierna my fiancé, but in the next month, we planned on changing our titles of being engaged to something better.

Husbands.


	28. The Eternal Flame

"_I do."_

My voice seemed to echo through the bright church. My hands were held gently in Berwald's own callused ones; our fingers were like sandpaper grinding against itself, but to each other, it didn't matter how rough our skin was; merely the fact that we were touching.

I carefully slid a simple golden ring onto the ring finger on Berwald's left hand, feeling my heart flutter at the

"Berwald Oxenstierna, do you take this man, Mathias Køhler to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"_I d'."_

I grinned as the Swede took a ring in his hand, and gently slid it onto my ring finger on my left hand. The marriage officiator standing beside us smiled and said the words I had been waiting for.

"And now, you may kiss your husband."

Berwald and I leaned in and gently pressed our lips together; cheers and clapping erupted from the crowd gathered, causing both my new husband and I to grin and our cheeks to redden.

We hooked arms and walked down the isle, smiling. This was a spectacle to media; more than a few cameras filmed the entire wedding. Not that I cared; being a gay man, and a successful MMA fighter, was hard to do. I proved that no matter my sexual orientation, I was still able to be stronger both physically and mentally than the average man.

Outside of the church awaited a limo, which Berwald and I got into, still beaming at each other. We sat down, and as the limo began to drive down the street towards the destination of the reception, we conversed.

"I don't think my life can get much better." I stated, placing a light kiss on the older man's cheek. He chuckled and fixed his glasses.

"I don't think m' life can either, Mathias… I'm s' glad I can call y' m' husband now…" The Swede replied, sniffling slightly. I chuckled and placed my hand on his cheek.

"You crying, Berwald?" I asked softly. Sure enough, a tear ran down the man's face, and he smiled.

"Can't help it. Just s' happy."

I chuckled and wiped a second tear away. "Ah… Four weeks after I get the championship, I get an amazing husband… It's really just the best thing? So much pride, so much happiness… I find it hard to believe, you know?"

"I know exactly how y' feel… but this is real. This is really happening… I couldn't ask anything more out of anyone or anything."

Hours passed, with dancing, smiles, tears, hugs, and kisses. Moments were forever imprinted into my mind more than the most practiced and studied of game plans, more than the most memorable knock outs.

Sitting at a table with Berwald next to me, I grasped his hand in mine, smiling. A microphone on a stand resided off to one side of the dance floor, and a bearded Croatian tapped the device.

"If you'll excuse my interruption, I have a few words I would like to say to those gathered here, and the newlyweds." Attention turned to Andelko, the man standing at the mic. He put his hands into the pockets of his black suit jacket and sighed.

"When I first met Mathias, I told him that I hoped he'd give me a good challenge. I only knew him as a fighter when we first met each other; little did I know that this man would not only beat me, but go on to beat Alexianos Kirzigian. He's got a sort of spark in his eyes that I have to admire. He's got so much determination, which is why he's on top of the WCFL. I can only hope that I can beat someone as unpredictable as him. But anyways, as days went by, and I when lost against Mathias, I connected with him. We seem to get along, the rookie and I. I hope I can know him for the rest of my life. A man as naturally happy and ambitious as Mathias is good for your health. His smile is practically contagious, like a cold. Though it's not half as bothersome… Okay, maybe a little, but hey, he's only human." He laughed. "I'm kidding, Mat, you're great. Passionate, even."

I laughed and grinned as Andelko continued.

"Now Berwald… I met him back when he was just starting off in MMA. Now I knew just from his skyscraper stature and the muscle on him, he was going to be one tough guy. Oh, and that stare. That stare, we can't forget. The Beast effect. Anyways, I watched him from a distance, watching him rack up win after win, and eventually he beat me. Then he hit a wall; that wall was Alexianos Kirzigian. Not quite the wall he wanted to hit, but hey, better than running into an actual wall. He powered through everyone, but just couldn't beat Kirzigian. He still had that flare in his eye though; he had that drive, that motivation to keep fighting, to keep doing something, anything to get better. He worked hard for years and years and years… and years. I have to say, if I got beat by someone as much as Berwald got beaten by Alexianos, I would have given up, but Berwald persevered, and kept on going. That takes guts. Fighting is his passion."

"But he and Mathias both have an even better passion; a passion for each other. These two guys have been together for a while now, an even when critics say that gay MMA fighters are terrible people, Mat and Berwald prove them wrong. These guys have stuck with each other through thick and thin. I swear, Mat can't seem to get out of the way of guys running red lights and Berwald can't seem to stop hitting his head on low doorways, but even so, despite the way the two are, they connect. The Beast and the Rookie. I didn't think I'd ever seen the true definition of love, but… when I look at Berwald and Mathias today, there's the definition sitting right in front of me. Love. Passion. Success. Happiness. Every positive adjective in my vocabulary." Andelko chuckled. "Give these two a round of applause or some cheering or something. They deserve it."

The gathered people clapped and cheered, Andelko walking over to Berwald and I.

"You guys, I just have to say that I wish you a great marriage, great careers, all the works, you know…? I love you guys. I can tell just by looking at you that you've got long lives ahead of you. And I have to thank you, both of you, for opening my eyes and showing me that love can work. You've inspired me to work harder with my marriage… To work harder with everything I do. Thank you so much."

"Andy…" I muttered, standing and rounding the table. I hugged him tightly, tears welling up in my eyes. 'Awws' came from some people in the crowd.

"You're welcome, man…" I said, chuckling slightly and sniffling. He smiled and pat my shoulder as we let go of each other. Berwald stood and hugged the Croat for a moment, exchanging a few quiet words that I didn't quite catch.

When the night was over, Berwald and I had returned to our house. Exhausted from the day, we decided to wait to consummate the marriage for another day. We would have to postpone any such activities until we could take a vacation from the WCFL and our training. Thankfully though, the upcoming fight was Berwald's retirement fight, and my first title defense. I was certain that Lodovico would be happy to give us a break so that we could spend some time together.

Berwald and I both got up early in the morning to do our different training routines at the World Class Gym. We both met up with our coaches, and began training like what seemed to be every day.

Eduard and I wrestled. Tolvorn worked with me on striking. Eduard and I wrestled some more. Tolvorn made me run laps. More wrestling. More striking. More laps. More training.

It felt so right to be in the gym, punching a punching bag, doing drills, working my muscles hard. It was simply a way of life for me. I had lived for a little over a year like this; waking up morning after morning just to train.

Days of training turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months turned into years, and before I knew it, I was being called a veteran of the WCFL.

Twelve years had gone by like a blur.

My record in the WCFL was 49-10. I was no longer the champion of the WCFL. But my run as champion had lasted eighteen fights, until Raivis Galante won it fair and square. He ended up losing it after only three title defenses, and currently, the title was in the hands of a young Romanian man named Vladimir Petrescu.

Being thirty-eight years old, I was shocked to say that I wasn't the oldest in the league. Andelko Begovich, at the age of forty-seven, was still alive and kicking in the top ranks of the World-Class Fighting League.

A lot of things had changed over the years though.

Lovino now ran the WCFL, continuing his family's legacy of ownership of the league.

Pretty much everyone from the days when I had joined MMA in the league had retired. Raivis and Andelko were the only two who remained, and even then, Raivis hadn't been on the roster before me.

Eduard and Raivis' relationship had fell through sadly, but hey, things happened.

Berwald, now in his early forties, had taken up carpentry and ran a small business. He was missing a finger now due to an accident with a buzz saw, but hey, it's not like one finger made too much of a difference.

Alexianos and Tino had ended up getting divorced eight years after Alexianos had lost his championship to me. I never did find out why.

My father had died of a heart attack ten years after I obtained the championship. The cause of it was stress, which wasn't a surprise. My parents always had seemed to overwork themselves to the point of exhaustion.

My mother had retired from her job, and moved to the United States, now living just across the street from Berwald and I.

A lot of things never changed though.

Berwald was still a beast, and could still scare away grown men with merely a glance.

The WCFL was still the most elite of MMA leagues, and was always looking for new talent.

Tino still ran the café downtown, and I often bought coffee there on the mornings I didn't train.

But most of all, I was still me. Cheerful, happy, relaxed, and brutal. If I could fight forever, I would, but sadly, I knew my time in the league was coming to a close. I had signed for my very last fight with the man I had been fighting alongside for the past thirteen years. Andelko Begovich.

It was a two-way retirement fight, meaning both he and I would retire, no matter the winner.

ooo

Bright lights blinded my eyes, causing me to squint as I exited the tunnel into the arena full of yowling fans. The octagonal cage in the center was my destination; the shape had become the centerfold of my career, and pretty much, my life.

My hands were encased in tightly-wrapped bandages and over the bandages, bright red gloves, gleaming in the artificial light beamed down from the ceiling. The gloves matched my shorts; the ones had worn numerous times, and the ones I had worn during my very first bout in this very same cage I was walking to.

My coach for the past thirteen years, Tolvorn Ryker, walked alongside me. The old man had slowed down his pace walking down the ramp to the cage, but he still had a grin on his face. He was still my coach, no matter what age, what pace, or where we were.

I entered the cage, smiling and standing in my corner. My blue eyes scanned over every detail, from the small stains of sweat and blood on the mat below my feet, to the shining multi-colored lights above my head. Screaming fans sounded all-too familiar, like every voice that was present I had heard in a day before.

My opponent and great friend Andelko Begovich mad his entrance, making similar glances around that I had made. He walked in the cage casually, smiling at me from across the mat.

Brian O'Keeffe stood at the center of the mat next to Liam Kirkland, beginning to announce the fight.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, our main event of the evening. This fight is a two-way retirement fight, between the last two veterans of the former generation of World-Class Fighting League fighters. Introducing first, the elder of the two, fighting out of the blue corner; weighing in at two-hundred and one pounds, standing at five feet, eleven inches tall… This man is a kick boxer and a Jiu-Jitsu fighter, fighting out of Vukovar, Croatia… with a record of 65-22... He is the World-Class Fighting League's longest participating fighter, with a total of eighty-seven fights in his official record… He is Andelko "The Southern Slavic Legend" Begovich!"

The crowd cheered loudly for the old fighter, who raised a fist in the air, grinning. Once the crowd died down, Brian O'Keeffe started once again.

"Introducing second, the younger of the two, fighting out of the red corner, weighing in at one-hundred ninety-nine pounds, standing at six feet tall… This man is a Generalist, fighting out of Copenhagen, Denmark… with a record of 49-10.… He is the former Champion of the World Class Fighting League, having defeated the longest-running champion in WCFL history, Alexianos Kirzigian, by way of knockout… He is Mathias "The Rookie" Køhler!"

I raised both my hands, balled into fists, as the crowd cheered and yowled.

The media cleared the ring, and I shook out my limbs, ready for the final fight of my career.

When Liam Kirkland, Andelko, and I were the only ones left in the cage, the ref readied himself at the center, looking to both Andelko and I.

"Are you ready?" He asked.

Andelko and I both nodded, and he swung his arms down, the bell ringing, the first round beginning.

Andelko and I pounded fists together out of respect and friendship when we approached each other, smiling.

We took steps away from each other, circling like we always did in every fight.

Our feet moved swiftly across the worn mat beneath them, bright lights heating the arena, bringing rays of shine to reveal the faces of cheering fanatics, camera people, officials, and the two fighters in the ring.

As punches were thrown and eventually blood was spilt, staining the canvas for what seemed to be the millionth time, memories ran through my head of days prior to this very one.

I remembered first stepping into this cage, so nervous my hands shook and sweat beaded down my face.

I remembered the fight against the passive Matthew Williams, and Furth more knocking him out to bring the start of one of the most notable careers in WCFL history.

I remembered meeting new friends; Eduard, Tino, Matthew, Alfred, Ivan, and so many more.

I remembered going on to fight Nikodemos Antonov, the instigating Macedonian who ended up the loser in a fight he had assured a win out of.

I remembered meeting my husband that fateful day in the World-Class Gym, when the Swede's exhaustion had peaked, and he was unable to train adequately enough to please his coach.

I remember fighting Lovino Vargas, enduring hell with the Italian's tactical fighting, and struggling to the end to achieve a victory.

I remember days after that fight, when Lovino had tried to make reparations, and even though I didn't accept them, he and I became good friends.

I remember the day that Berwald asked me out conveniently, thanks to Eduard telling the man that I had a crush on him.

I remember training to fight a so-called "heartless" Russian, who in all reality, was a very caring, gentle giant.

I remembered my first date with my very own gentle giant, learning a lot about the man over a plate of Italian cuisine and some reminiscing about past events.

I remember fighting Ivan Braginski, going through a grueling three rounds with the incredibly strong Russian, but coming out with the win.

I remember watching a fight between Berwald and the only man ever to defeat him at the time, Alexianos Kirzigian, and realizing just how brutal the sport I had gotten involved in really was.

I remember visiting Berwald in the hospital the day after losing his fight with the champion, debilitated more by the emotions he felt than the concussion he had acquired.

I remember somehow finding myself a spot in Berwald's heart, earning his confession of love, and thus coming to the realization that I was in love as well.

I remember fighting the first legend of my career, Andelko Begovich, and winning, stunning the community, grinning despite my cracked ribs.

I remember spending a restless night in the hospital after a surgery to fix those broken ribs, throwing an apple at my coach to wake him up, and playing Tetris on my phone to pass the time.

I remember an intimate moment with Berwald that was interrupted by the grumbling of an empty stomach, emitted from the tall Swede.

I remember fighting a Serbian man who had revealed to the world that he had been living a life full of struggle, hate, and lies, retiring with a loss in his final fight, a a heart heavier than his punches.

I remember the confession from my Swedish boyfriend about his past with his father, and his urges for suicide, and even more clearly, when he handed me a revolver and told me to dispose of it.

I remember, vividly, the proposal of marriage from the Swede, accepting the ring from him even though our relationship hadn't been in existence for all that long.

I remember going to Sweden, and watching Berwald break down at his father's grave, questioning the motionless tombstone until he felt that he finally had closure.

I remember sparring with Alexianos Kirzigian, only to have my ribs broken from a hard punch that was only meant for inside the cage, not for a training ring in a gym.

I remember learning of a fallen fighter, Dagur Jonson, and vowing to avenge his death, even though I was scared for my own.

I remember stepping into the ring and fighting Berwald, disregarding the fact that he was my fiancé at the time, and coming out with the win over one of the most prolific characters in the league.

I remember keeping refuge a Finnish man whose marriage had been falling apart at the seams.

I remember thinking spiraling thoughts about so many things, becoming stressed and nervous for days ahead.

I remember achieving the greatest victory in the WCFL, beating Alexianos Kirzigian with a desperation punch, stopping the MMA world, silencing the crowd, and proving once and for all that I was the very best in the league, and that I belonged.

I remember, in the days after the victory, basking in the glory of being the champion, but remaining modest in attempts to keep stable relationships with those around me.

And I knew I would remember these next few moments of my life; the final fight of my career. The end of an era.

The fire in our eyes would never die though; it was merely passed on from generation to generation. From the era of the first WCFL fighters; Lodovico Vargas, Arthur Kirkland, Francis Bonnefoy, to the second. From the second era of WCFL fighters; Sadik Adnan, Alexianos Kirzigian, Andelko Begovich, and I, to the third, the cycle would continue for as long as the World-Class Fighting League remained in existence.

The eternal flame of our lives would never go out; it would merely burst to an even brighter light with each coming year, with each new fighter to come into the organization, with each new smile obtained from a victory.

The only undefeated thing that resided in the minds of the fighters was the spirit that lived through us all. Our dream had never been to win our fights, to become champions, to retire undefeated; all along, it had been to keep the eternal flame alive.

And alive, the flame remained.

_The End_


End file.
